


Hamilton Doesn't Hesitate (So I Can't Either)

by Josh Spicer (joshspicer)



Series: What If? [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr-centric, Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Canon Rewrite, Gen, I'm never great at tagging, TW: Suicide, What-If, how do you tag ANYTHING on this site, how the fuck do you tag warnings on this site, so forgive me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshspicer/pseuds/Josh%20Spicer
Summary: Aaron Burr is a patient man at the best of times. He waits for opportunities to arise and chooses when and where to make his beliefs and opinions known. But when their first meeting goes differently, Aaron takes it upon himself to watch over Alexander Hamilton personally. This allows them to become close friends and allies both on and off the battlefield.If Aaron is more willing to stand up for himself, what would change? What things would be different? How would history be rewritten?
Relationships: Aaron Burr & Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr & George Washington, Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette & Hercules Mulligan
Series: What If? [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529810
Comments: 12
Kudos: 26





	1. Act 1

In a family of geniuses, it doesn’t take long for Aaron Burr Jr. to understand the concept of patience. It’s a virtue few can afford and even fewer take advantage of. In his short life, Aaron has understood the idea of patience to its very core and grasps the concept as a part of him more than just a moral code to follow.

But just because he understands waiting for one’s moment, does not mean he isn’t also gifted the ability to fight for what he believes in.

His grandfather embodied this principle as the staunchest preacher he’s ever had the privilege of meeting. Hellfire and brimstone do not begin to describe the level of fierceness that Mr. Jonathan Edwards had in his beliefs. Despite being raised a God-fearing Christian man, Aaron himself no longer held any beliefs in any deistic entity, but he will always respect his grandfather for sticking true to himself in the face of so much sin in this world.

His mother was a genius in her own right. She spent days writing in her journal, detailing a litany of moments many might consider inane but he believes could one day change the world. To this day his mother instilled in him the idea that women are equal to men, and in some ways better.

His father was a successful lawyer who started one of the greatest colleges the world has ever seen. Princeton College might be seen as a staunch birthplace of many nefarious and seemingly evil lawyers, but a man like his father doesn’t get by in life without commanding respect. Aaron gave him it in spades and he’d be dammed if he would dishonor his parents’ legacies by disrespecting anybody who hasn’t earned it.

His recent ancestors might no longer be here to watch him thrive, but if Aaron Burr is aware of anything, it’s that opportunities are rare and the ability to wait is a gift given far and few.

And then he meets Alexander Hamilton, a man who embodies opportunities like the world is paved for only him. He came from nothing, and with the aid of strangers and a quill he managed to write his way off of his island onto the mainland. And for nothing but the potential for an opportunity?

Aaron would be naïve not to respect the man’s story once he learns it.

They have a drink together soon after their first meeting.

“May I offer you some free advice?” he asks.

Alexander nods, but Aaron notices the smirk across his face. Aaron admonishes this and continues all the same.

“Talk less,” he says.

Alexander narrows his eyes, his shoulders tensing around Aaron’s arm.

“Smile more.”

“What?” Alexander asks.

“Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for,” Aaron finishes, leading Alexander throughout the streets towards a nearby tavern.

“You can’t be serious…?” Alexander asks.

Aaron understands, patting the immigrant on his shoulder a couple times.

“It’s an old saying my mother used to teach me. You want to get ahead right?” he asks.

“Yes,” Alexander says like it’s his whole reason for living, which, it turns out, is more spot-on than Aaron realizes.

“Take advantage of what people don’t know about you. We’re living in interesting times, Alexander. The winds of change are blowing faster and are nearly at its peak. Fight for what you believe in and let people who matter know where you stand. I have no doubt you’ll make it far here in this city, and maybe when the time finally comes we can let silly things like keeping our opinions tight slide, but alas, around every corner stands an acolyte who still believes in that monarchy across the sea.”

They reach the tavern, with Aaron removing his arm from Alexander to open the door.

“So you propose we fight what we believe in, but not allow our enemies to know?” the immigrant asks.

Aaron allows a smile to cross his face. At the irony, Alexander finds his lips rising slightly.

“Fools who run their mouth too much wind up dead. Let’s save the bloodshed for when it really matters. Understand me?” Aaron continues.

With a nod, Alexander walks into the establishment. Aaron is right behind him.

His smile fades when he notices the three Reprobates rhyming to themselves about nonsense. It isn’t until Henry Laurens’ son, a man who he might agree with politically but can’t agree with personally, starts to order some more alcohol that Aaron opens his mouth to speak.

Alexander interrupts him, the smile across his face revealing his amusement.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” he says.

Aaron slaps a hand on his shoulder in response, his smile slowly returning.

“I’ll go get us a round,” he said.

He makes it only a few steps when John Laurens steps in front of him.

“Well, if it ain't the prodigy of Princeton college,” he says.

“Aaron Burr!” Hercules Mulligan, the brute, decides to acknowledge.

John offers Aaron one of the four shot glasses in hand. He takes one, clicking it softly against the other three in John’s.

“Is Mr. Burr feeling conversational today?” Marquis de Lafayette asks in a loud and clearly unsober voice.

“Yeah Burr, spit us a verse, drop some knowledge!” John exclaims.

Aaron smirks, his eyes turning towards Alexander. He just mirrors his expression. With a wink, Aaron raises the shot glass of alcohol up towards eye-level.

“You raise a glass for the freedom that we—try to achieve, and while I agree whole-heartedly in what you believe, if you speak loud enough the Reds can quickly receive the same info and before you do all you want to achieve…you’ll find yourself without a pot to piss on or a shot to drink…so Laurens, before you speak, just listen, all those thoughts you think…”

John rolls his eyes, deciding to interrupt him than allow him to continue.

“Burr, the Revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?” he asks.

“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what would you fall for?” Alexander intercedes.

With the attention swiftly changing to Alexander and not himself, Aaron shoots the drink, allowing the dammed whisky to burn his throat and esophagus. He places the drink on the table as he walks the other direction. He pats Alexander on his shoulder once before finding a spot to sit.

Aaron did more than he needed, or rather should’ve, in allowing this immigrant with the same spark in his eyes that he has to make himself known.

It’s time to see if he can live up to the task.

* * *

Aaron Burr would never consider himself close to the Reprobates, but he does admire the quickness that they openly accept Alexander. Maybe it’s his mother finding her way out from inside him, but he finds himself somehow responsible for the immigrant, not that he needs anybody looking out for him.

All the same, even Aaron finds it surprising they allowed him to join in their midnight rabble.

“I may not live to see our glory,” Alexander says.

They all raise a glass, the alcohol and energy long since drained from their bodies after countless hours of celebration and commemoration of the coming tides of war. Commendable to a point, but even some points have their limit.

“But I will gladly join the fight.”

And they just reached it. The smile on his face fades slightly as he watches the Reprobates’ newest member share a harmonious toast to the revolution, to freedom, and to the ideals all five of them strive to build.

“Raise a glass to freedom,” John says.

The other four join in it, clinking them together. Aaron, despite himself, raises his own glass. He is seated at the table next to them, avoiding the spotlight they continue to place upon themselves.

“Tomorrow they’ll be more of us,” John and Hercules say together with such vigor.

Aaron stands up, finishing his glass along with it. He reaches into his pocket to start paying for the tab they’ve amassed. It is no secret that the Reprobates are this tavern’s most regular customers. For all the harmonies of hubris they deliver, they are not ones to ever skimp on a drink. It’s an aspect of them he admires even if the effects of alcohol are not his favorite thing in the world.

He doesn’t get very far away from his table before Alexander speaks up.

“Aaron Burr, sir, please…join us for another round,” he says.

The man in question makes sure his smile is on his face as he speaks.

“I would love to Alexander, but it is past midnight and due time for us to head home,” he says.

As expected, this causes the Reprobates to jeer and hackle.

“You are the worst, Burr,” Lafayette says.

“One more round Aaron, come on,” Hercules adds in.

“Put your money away, Burr. Give us a verse and I’ll pay for everything,” John finishes.

Aaron raises an eyebrow, making sure to measure the statement just given to him. John mirrors him, though smiles as if to mock his mantra.

Aaron’s eyes drift to Alexander. He holds out a glass of brew for Aaron to take.

Allowing a chuckle to emit from him, Aaron puts his money away. This gets the Reprobates to murmur in excitement. He appreciates how they’ve allowed him to intrude on their fun. He knows he was invited only on Alexander’s account. It was a nice thought, though one in folly. All the same, Aaron finds no fun in ruining anyone else’s.

“Very well,” he says.

He grabs the glass from Alexander and stands in front of the quartet.

He first turns his glass to Marquis de Lafayette, the proud Frenchmen who has immigrated here on behalf of his people.

“To the citizens of our newfound nation…whenever its time will come at last. May it inspire your own people to stand up…and kick out all the royal caste.”

Lafayette and him clink glasses, a small smile finding itself on the former’s face.

Aaron then turns towards Hercules Mulligan, the tailor with a tendency to be brutally honest, whose only goal is to fight for and _mean_ something amongst his people.

“To the war coming to our doorstep…and our people fighting for what is few. May our actions go down in history…and be seen as noble, brave, and true.”

Hercules deigns Aaron a clink as well. The big man doesn’t wait and opts to chug his own glass then and there.

Aaron raises his glass towards John Laurens, the freedom fighting son of a jackass who will fight for the freedom of all men.

“To the freedom we will obtain…for all men, of color, race, and creed. May it pave the way for humanity…and for women to join us in the lead.”

John clinks Aaron’s glass, letting out a few chuckles of his own.

And finally, Aaron finds himself face-to-face with somebody who is quickly becoming something of a friend. Aaron hasn’t had many of those, but if he can call Alexander Hamilton, the immigrant…bastard, son of a whore his friend…then god dammit he is proud to have the honor.

“To the new nation we will build…to all of the memories we collect. Raise a glass to the revolution…and all our legacies to protect.”

The two clink their glasses, and with Hercules already having poured another, all five raise their glasses in another toast.

“They’ll tell the story of tonight,” Aaron sings.

* * *

It isn’t until after Aaron stops Alexander from harassing that Seabury boy any further that they share their first real argument. Once the redcoats enter the area and start shouting of a message from the King, Aaron grabs Alexander by his arm.

The Reprobates and Aaron escape the square, finding their way into their usual spot in that drunkard-filled tavern.

Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette take a seat and immediately request a drink. No shocker there.

Aaron’s arm is forcefully removed from Alexander’s. The two share a glance, neither willing to begin the discussion.

The first person to notice the tension is Lafayette.

“Make it a double please!” he calls out.

“Alexander, repeat exactly what you just said to me,” Aaron says.

Alexander narrows his eyes, but allows the conversation to be lead in this direction. Fortunate for Aaron, truly.

“I'd rather be divisive than indecisive, drop the niceties,” Alexander repeats.

Aaron sighs, accepting the drink handed to him by the waitress. With a nod of thanks, he quickly tosses the drink back. With the liquid courage finding itself down his throat and warming his spirit, he continues.

“What part of ‘talk less’ was difficult to understand?” he asks.

Alexander grabs his own glass and mirrors Aaron. Once the empty glass is slammed down next to the other one, he speaks.

“Burr, I can understand not wanting the redcoats to be aware of our plan, but they’ve long since discovered the…what did that fool call it, the ‘rabble?’ The King is aware of the growing tension, Aaron. If you think calming down now would help than I hate to find out what you think when New York City is on fire,” he says.

Aaron takes a deep breath, making sure his hands are flat and against the table in between them.

“Openly criticizing the King is one thing. Declaring revolution and dedicating yourself to the cause is another. If an unarmed British officer was on that soapbox I would have applauded you and allowed you to continue…but that was one of our own. Seabury might not have been on our side, but he still remains a man on our land wearing our colors,” he says.

“It’s because he’s a preacher, isn’t it?” Alexander asks.

Aaron hears the Reprobates make some ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ behind him, but otherwise pays it little mind.

“Seabury’s profession has little to do with the situation. My qualm begins and ends with the harassment of the man.”

“Why the hesitation? What do you stall for?” Alexander asks. “This war is the only chance to prove that guys like us, with no families, who have proven themselves capable of coming up from nothing and defying every expectation, to finally rise up to a potential that could never be matched. Aaron, I enjoy our conversations, but I will never understand why you hesitate at the harshest of moments.”

“Alexander I can assure you that the moment those guns are shot I will defend _our_ country until I have died on that battlefield. I will speak up for freedom for every… _person_ …on our land,” Aaron starts. “Alex, I would be honored to stand by your side and fight against the injustices and tyrannies that men like King George has placed upon this world. But the guns are not drawn. The cannons are not aimed. The soldiers remain stationary. And harassing men like Samuel Seabury does little to help our cause.”

Alexander looks down at the table. He grabs the second glass in front of him. He looks at the liquid inside for a few moments for drinking it down. Aaron takes this time and does the same to his own double.

“You ask me why I hesitate. Alex, I can not afford to blindly rush into every situation that could be given to me in my favor,” Aaron says. “But…what I said was true. If you and I were to die on that battlefield as martyrs to the cause…well, I would consider that a life fulfilled.”

The two set down their glasses. Aaron offers his forearm towards his opposite.

“Alex, I consider you my friend. If this is an argument we shall never pass on, than I am willing to continue this conversation until one of us dies…but until then…know that I will always have your back,” he finishes.

After a few moments of contemplation, Alexander accepts the forearm, and the two shake on it.

* * *

“Your excellency, sir.”

The giant of a man in front of him narrows his eyes in confusion.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Aaron Burr, sir. I wished to give you my praise.”

“As you were,” Washington says.

Aaron’s smile turns into a smirk. He allows a chuckle to escape his lips.

“Mr. Burr, if I wasn’t clear—”

“No offense given, your excellency. I just wanted to commend you on your strategy so far. I understand you’re busy beyond belief, but I thought a solider with my experience and youth might have something to provide.”

“Heh…” George chuckles.

Aaron would have to be deaf to not hear the lack of humor.

“Sir. I was a captain under General Montgomery until he caught a bullet in the neck in Quebec, and well, in summary. I think that I could be of some assistance.”

“Burr…as much as I might commend your audacity, if I wanted unsolicited advice I would have written a letter to my wife,” George says.

Aaron would have to be blind to not see the smile restraining itself on the man’s lips.

“Understandable. Should you need anything, your excellency, it would be an honor to serve in your wife’s stead. She seems like a wonderful and intelligent woman.”

At this, Washington does allow a smile to grace his lips.

“I’m sure she appreciates the flattery. I assure you, Burr, should I require your assistance I will keep you in mind,” he says.

Ah. So that’s how it is. Aaron nods, the smile crossing his face as natural as him blinking.

Yet another opportunity lost.

“Your excellency, you wanted to see me?” the familiar voice is heard.

“Yes, Hamilton, come in, have you met Burr?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Alexander begins as Burr turns towards his friend.

“We keep meeting,” the two share a moment to shake hands and laugh amongst themselves.

As Alexander and Aaron turn back towards Washington, it is then that the third-party sees what has happened.

Alexander was called here my Washington.

Another opportunity lost by Burr and gained by Hamilton.

But perhaps not all lost…?

“Alexander, it’s nice to see you in good health. Your excellency, I can assure you there is no better wordsmith or marksman in your squadron,” Aaron says.

“You as well, Aaron, but don’t be so down on yourself. Your excellency, Aaron might be a terrible shot, but if you want to convince a British officer to strip naked and swim in the Atlantic you can find nobody who can do it faster than him.”

Aaron isn’t so proud to not accept the backhanded compliment. His soldiers can attest to his lack of ability with a gun so there’s little he has to hide about it.

“Your excellency…Alexander…I wish you both a good conversation,” he says.

As he exits the room and the door closes behind him, he would have no sense of touch to not feel the hairs on his arms and neck rise up.

 _Alexander deserves this_ , Aaron thinks.

He lets his smile return to his face before allowing the conversation behind him to take place in peace.

* * *

“Well if it isn’t Aaron Burr, sir.”  
  
“Alexander!”

“I didn't think that you would make it.”

“To be sure.”

“Burr!” John yells from the Reprobates’ table.

“I came to say congratulations more personally.”

“Spit a verse, Burr!” Hercules yells, clearly haven taken too much of the sauce tonight.

“I see the whole gang is here,” Aaron says.

“You are the worst, Burr,” Marquis says through a few chuckles.

“Ignore them,” Alexander says through laughter.

“I know how they can be. This is a special night Alexander. I would be a fool not to miss a party with your four,” Aaron says.

“Well…you’re a bit too late there,” Alexander says with a small chuckle.

Aaron smiles and nods.

“I apologize. I was caught up with things since the reception,” he says.

“Tell me Burr, who is Things and should we know her?” John. Of course.

Aaron smiles and lowers his head, which is an admission in it of itself.

“Is that so?” Alexander asks.

“What are you trying to hide Burr?” John asks mockingly.

“John…must we?” Aaron asks with his smile still intact.

“Aaron, what is he talking about?” Alexander asks, mostly curious at this point.

“I should go,” Aaron says.

John notices the dropped smile. With a shrug and his hands raised, he backs up.

“No offense given Burr. Just wanted to know who this lovely flame is that keeps you away from your pal’s post-wedding party,” Laurens says.

“The best damn woman I’ve ever met…and yes I will fight you on that Alex,” Aaron says.

“She must be one hell of a woman,” Laurens says.

“I wish you brought this girl with you tonight, Burr,” Alex says.

“You're very kind, but I'm afraid it's unlawful, sir.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m afraid she’s married.”

“I see.”

“She’s married to a British officer.”

The Reprobates manage to release their alcohol from their mouths—disgusting, honestly—just in time to match Alex’s colorful response.

“Oh shit,” they all say.

“Congrats again, Alex,” Aaron says.

He notices the frown in place on Alex’s face. He no doubt believes its worry on his own behalf.

“Smile more,” he prods.

Alexander smiles at the turn of phrase.

“I suppose we should thank Ogden you’re still in Washington’s good graces,” he says.

Aaron’s smile widens at the reference to his brother-in-law.

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually. Wasn’t it my promise to stand side-by-side with you on the battlefield?” he asks.

Alexander can’t help but laugh at this.

“Alas, it appears George needs us more manning his journal and writing his correspondences. You _really_ have been a huge help, Aaron. I know George doesn’t acknowledge you as much as he does me, but he _does_ recognize your contributions. Half our supplies and food would be left to dust if not for you. Hell, I’d wager to say we’d be eating our horses if you weren’t there to get straight to the point and cut them down in one sentence.”

“It’s true,” Laurens pipes up from the table.

“I’d rather eat Charles Lee than our beautiful equines,” Lafayette adds.

“I’ll raise a glass to that,” Hercules contributes.

For as little of the action he’s seen, you’d think Mulligan would’ve been there with them with as much as he knows about what’s happened. It appears that drunken soldiers _do_ make the worst liars.

“Not to mention your letters against slavery. Who knew you could speak so eloquently and passionately about a women without wanting to…what was the word…‘deflower’ them?” Laurens adds.

Aaron smiles wide.

“Thank you, Alexander, John, everyone, truly…but while you have an undeniable skill with a quill…we both know my mind and body are better served elsewhere,” Aaron says.

Alexander nods, his smile dropping slightly.

“You’ve taken up Washington’s advice, it seems,” he says.

“Ironic coming from a man unfavorable to unsolicited advice, but I can’t deny that it has merit. The pay is good and if the Battle of Quebec is any indication, men have a tendency to listen to me,” Aaron responds.

“Aaron, how many pages have we written of letters towards Congress demanding things we never would have gotten if you weren’t there to set them straight?” Alex inquires.

“I see your point, but I must apologize all the same. It appears that my promise might not come true after all.”

Alexander places a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, meeting the man in his eyes.

“I wish I could be there with you. I do, sincerely. One day we will get that chance.”

“I’ll see you on the other side of the war,” Aaron says.

With one last shake, and a nod towards the Reprobates, Aaron starts to exit the tavern.

“Hey Aaron?” Alex asks.

Aaron stops to turn fully towards his friend.

“Go get her. You love this woman more than anything. You once told me to fight for what you believe in. The way I see it, you believe this woman is worth fighting for. So…what are you waiting for?” Alex inquires.

Aaron smiles and nods once again.

“You’ll have to meet her sometime. I’m sure you’d have a lot to talk about. However, I see your point. Thanks again, Alex,” he says.

* * *

“Your excellency,” Aaron says at attention.

Washington looks up from a letter in Alexander’s hand.

“Burr, yes. How was Valley Forge?” Washington asks before turning back to the piece of paper. “I know The Gulph can be a handful at the best of times.”

“The Forge is safe as it as always been,” Aaron says though remains in the formal stance. “I’m sure the mutineers I put down loved the view enough to be buried there.”

This is enough for Washington and Alexander to look up. Laurens takes this opportunity to exit the room, carrying a couple of pieces of paper with him.

“At ease, Burr,” Washington says, almost annoyed.

“Permission to speak freely?” Aaron asks.

Washington nods. Aaron glances at Alexander once to notice his undivided attention. Good. He’d want to hear this.

“As a former aide in your camp and a soldier who has fought from north to south for this country, I hold no doubt that my opinion might mean little to you. I only bring that point up because I know for a fact I am not the only person to question this decision,” he says.

“Get to the point,” Washington says.

“Why did you put Charles Lee in charge of the regiment?” Aaron asks.

Before Washington can respond, Alexander pops in between them. He grabs Aaron by the shoulders and leads him towards the door of the tent.

“Pardon us, your excellency, but I need to have a word with the lieutenant colonel,” he says.

Once the two leave, Aaron glances over his shoulder with narrowed eyes enough to see Washington clench his fists.

Ah. It seems another opportunity has been lost.

“Aaron, I appreciate the courage to stand up like that, but is this really the best time? We’re about ready to march out to Monmouth and George is already pissed,” Alex interrupts his thoughts.

The two meet eyes. No smiles. No nods.

“Washington would have to be blind and deaf not to notice the blown opportunity here. Charles Lee is beloved by no one and considered a cowardly nuisance by many. What reasoning is there in this? Surely you have heard some modicum of logic from him,” Aaron says.

Alexander sighs. It’s a big sigh. A sigh that speaks more than either of them combined could hope to achieve.

“It’s non-starter. Trust me, John and I have done our due diligence in trying to get him to reconsider but he’s so hellbent on this that he won’t change his mind. With the march to Monmouth only days away, now is the worst time to question his command. He’s already gotten reprimanded by Congress and with these series of losses recently, we’re pulling our hair out trying to get _some_ kind of win.”

Aaron shakes his hand, pinching his nose to try to alleviate the pressure building up.

“Of course. As usual I picked the worst time. Fine. If this is the direction the General has decided to go than I’m in no position to question it. I just hope he’s aware that nobody can tell him ‘I told you so’ except for maybe you,” he says.

“Aaron! Keep your voice down. The last thing he needs to hear is _that_ ,” Alexander says.

“Ah, yes. Talk less, smile more. I can’t say it’s nice to see my advice turned on me in such a way…” Aaron pauses to note his friend’s somewhat guilty reaction. “…alas, I do see your point. Fine. Tell the General my apologies, for as little as anything I do to him is worth.”

“I’ll make sure to put in the best word for you,” Alex says.

With a smile returning to his face, Aaron shakes his head again, albeit in amusement this time.

“Much obliged, Alex. I’ll see you after the battle,” he says.

The two shake hands and quickly depart. Aaron hears only the beginnings of George Washington’s response, but it doesn’t take him much imagination, or in this case, Laurens’ somewhat jilted and crooked reassurance to know that he messed up.

Perhaps next time he’ll wait for it.

* * *

Charles Lee shits the bed at the Battle of Monmouth.

The arrogant jackass retreats the moment things start to look dire. Were it not for Lafayette’s legendary leading, there is no way we would have recovered. The entire regiment is lucky to have snatched a stalemate.

Aaron had the unfortunate distinction of losing the majority of his own men. With nothing but the pride of failure on their shoulders, Aaron walks back into camp.

He faints.

* * *

When he wakes back up, he is in the medical tent, being treated by one of the nurses. After clearing some light from his eyes, he notices Washington talking to the head nurse across the room. Periodically he glances his way, but doesn’t seem to notice Aaron having awoken. Given how restrained the head nurse is in keeping her hands clenched at her side, it doesn’t take a genius like him to realize how heated it is.

It is then that headache starts to burn.

He can’t help the groan of pain that emits from his sealed lips.

The nurse quiets him and places a cold cloth of water onto his forehead.

Aaron opens his eyes to see Washington at the foot of his bed.

This should be fun…

“Burr…if you have something to say, now is the time,” he says.

“Your excellency, this is no time to pry the patient. He is in serious need of rest. The heatstroke he suffered is serious enough that he will need to take some leave,” the head doctor says.

Ah. It appears their conversation earlier revolved around him. That’s a first.

“Burr…” Washington says impatiently.

Despite the heat on his skin, despite wanting to crawl into the Atlantic naked and hope to drown this headache with everything else, Aaron can’t help but speak.

“I believe I made my position very clear, your excellency,” he croaks out through a dry throat.

Despite the proceeding cough and admonishing from the nurse tending to him, he continues to speak, his eyes never leaving his Commander.

“There were many options available to choose from that were better than Charles Lee. What point is your aide-de-camp if not to advise you on such things?” Aaron asks rhetorically.

There’s another pause and Aaron catches Washington break their eye contact.

Well this is clearly a hallucination from the heatstroke. Washington would never willingly look guilty in front of _him_ of all people.

Hell. If this is a hallucination, he might as well go full force with it.

“I reiterate that I understand how little my opinion means to you. It makes me question why you bothered to keep me on your staff. It’s clear that I’ll always be a failure to you. That’s fine. Take my title, take my position, take my health. Take my Theodosia if you must. You’ve already taken my pride and legacy,” he says.

Hallucination Washington looks back up at him, a small smile on his face. Wow. Hallucination Washington is a dick. This must be a _good_ hallucination.

“This Theodosia…something tells me she would be none-too-happy to see you arrive home as a corpse,” Hallucination Washington says.

“I’m sure she appreciates the flattery,” Aaron mutters out.

As his eyes start to shutter and make way for more rest, he hears Hallucination Washington speak to the head nurse.

“Make sure he is well taken care of. Let me know when things get better…or worse,” he says.

So Hallucination Washington actually cared for him.

Maybe a little more time with this heatstroke might not be a bad idea…

The vomit that comes soon after immediately makes him reverse his position on that.

* * *

“What makes you think I would ever be your second…?” Aaron asks before pausing. “…again?”

“Laurens laid the challenge at my feet out of nowhere. I know nobody here likes me, least of all you. However, I also know you stood by me at Monmouth even when everyone else left me to rot. There was also a rumor that you defended me during my court martial. Why do that if you hated me?” Lee asks in return.

With a sigh another pinching of his nose to decrease the increasing headache, Aaron continues.

“Because, Lee, just because I admonish the idiocy of placing you in charge of a regiment _at all_ , I was still under your serve at the time. You fought well when we were ahead. It wasn’t until we started facing serious opposition you took your tail and ran.”

“Yes! Exactly! You were there! You understand what I was going through!”

“Calm down, you’re embarrassing yourself. I understand everything but your cowardice, Lee. Why not call on Edwards? He’s probably the only proper ally you have.”

“Edwards is my friend—”

“Nice to see I’m not.”

“—and I would never put him in this position. Please Aaron!”

He’s going to regret this.

* * *

He regrets this.

“Alexander,” Aaron says amicably.

“Aaron Burr, sir,” Alex responds.

“We’re going full names now?” Aaron asks.

“Only because you’re seconding for this coward.”

“Only because he’s such a coward he has no one else to second him."

“So…pity then?"

“For the most part. Look, Alex, can we agree that duels are dumb and immature?”

“Sure, but Lee has to answer somehow for his words and actions. If a court martial that _you_ helped stop isn’t enough, then what is?”

“I don’t _disagree_ that he deserves repentance for what he’s done. I don’t _agree_ that it should be his life that’s the cost.”

“How many _other_ lives were lost because Lee was inexperienced and ruinous?”

“Many, Alexander. I was there. I saw those men die in front of me. I _understand_ that Lee was a mistake. You _know_ how much I understand that…but if we punished a man with death for a mistake, well…we’d be needing to put _Washington_ ten paces away.”

This causes Alexander to pause. He looks down for a few moments, thinking over Aaron’s words more closely.

It’s when Alexander’s eyes narrow that Aaron realizes he has lost him in this case.

“I’m sorry Aaron…but this is a fair and equal punishment for all that his mistake cost us,” Alex says.

“Okay, so we’re doing this.”

* * *

“Lee, do you yield?”

“You shot him in the side, yes he yields!”

“I’m satisfied!”

“Laurens, how can you be satisfied over this?”

“Payback, Burr! Vengeance for all those men pointlessly killed because of him!”

“Is that it? Or is it because he talked shit against Washington? Am I next because I dared to oppose him?”

It’s Alexander that interferes.

“Yo we gotta clear the field!” he exclaims. “Go! We won!”

Alexander tries to shove Laurens back, with him locking eyes with an angry Aaron.

“Here comes the General!” their audience shouts.

“ _This_ should be fun…” Aaron mutters.

The pinching of his nose is not enough to alleviate the headache.

“What is the meaning of this?” Washington shouts as he approaches the dueling ground. “Burr, get a doctor for the General.”

The doctor walks over and begins to take Lee away. He has General Edwards by his side to help him back to the tent.

“Lee, you will never agree with me, but believe me, these young men don't speak for me,” Washington says.

He takes off his cap and bows to the departing General.

“Thank you for your service,” he continues.

“Let ride,” Laurens says.

“Hamilton!”

“Sir,” Alexander stands at attention.

“Burr!”

“Sir,” Aaron follows suit.

“Meet me inside,” Washington orders.

Alexander and Aaron take a few moments to watch Washington enter his tent.

Another opportunity lost. Fortunately for Aaron, it looks like Alexander is right in the boat with him.

Aaron and Alexander stand side-by-side as they enter his tent. Neither man says a word to the other. Aaron believes it’s from the nervousness of what awaits them.

He would never find out the real reason.

Once the tent flaps closes, both men stand at attention as Washington paces back and forth.

“Son,” Washington begins.

“Don’t call me son,” Alexander says.

“Alex—” Aaron.

“This war is hard enough without infighting.”

“Lee called you out, we called his bluff.”

“Alex are you seriously going to stand there and defend this?” Aaron exclaims.

“You solve nothing, you aggravate our allies to the south,” George.

“You’re absolutely right, John should’ve shot him in the mouth,” Alexander.

“Alex, are you even listening to yourself? You’d willingly let him die because he dared to speak out against your _beloved_ General.” Aaron.

“Burr, do _not_ think I am letting you off easy. You could’ve defused the tension with only your _words_. I’ve read your letters. I’ve heard you at the command. If anybody could have convinced the three of them to stop this nonsense it would have been _you_.” Washington.

“I don’t need Aaron coming to my aid, General, I can defend myself against you just fine.” Alex.

“Son—” George.

“Don’t call me/ _him_ son,” Alex and _Aaron_ say at the same time.

“Watch your tone,” Washington says with the air of coldness that has allowed him a lifetime of leadership.

“Do you really believe that? Do you honestly believe in me enough that I could have stopped this? Or are you humoring yourself into thinking that because you’re guilty you’ve allowed your _priceless prodigy_ to stray this far?” Aaron.

“Get off the high horse, Burr, you’re not even fit to command over Lee. The General has some merit to not trusting you fully…reasons I am starting to see myself.” Alex.

“I am not a maiden in need of defending, I am grown!” Washington interrupts them.

“Charles Lee, Thomas Conway, even Burr! They all take your name and they rake it through the mud!” Alex.

“The audacity of utilizing a public forum, how dare they?” Aaron asks sarcastically.

“My name’s been through a _lot_ , I can take it.” Washington.

“Well, I don't have your name. I don't have your titles. I don't have your land.” Alex.

“Alex—!” Aaron.

“But, if you—” Alex continues despite Aaron’s interruption.,

“No.” Washington says in the bluntest way he possibly could.

“If you gave me command of a battalion, a group of men to lead, I could fly above my station after the war.” Alex finishes his argument despite the cold dismissal moments ago.

“You want a full-on command? What happened to fighting side-by-side? Is this really all you want? A command to lead? Does your honor, your damned pride want you to have martyrdom so badly you’d fall that far? Think about it Alex! You have it perfect as you do! You’re indispensable!” Aaron.

“I don’t _want_ to be indispensable! I gain _nothing_ writing for the General! If I had a command, I could go down in history—” Alex starts but is interrupted again.

“Or you could die! Your wife needs you alive! Son, _I_ need you alive!” Washington.

“Call me son one more time!” Alex.

Alexander stands toe-toe with Washington. It’s only then that all three men realize the situation. Of them, it’s Washington who remains the most professional.

Or perhaps the only one capable of keeping their true emotions in check long enough to me.

“Go home, Alexander,” he says.

Alexander’s lips quiver. He starts to speak, but only gets out a syllable before being interrupted again.

“That’s an order from your Commander,” that cold voice has returned.

“But—”

“Go…home…”

Alexander takes a few moments to recollect himself. He turns around, forcing his back to Washington.

He turns towards Aaron, and he can see the spark in his eyes is more than just ambition now. Aaron raises a hand, about to put it on his Alexander’s shoulder, but before he can, the man leaves the tent.

When the two men left are alone, Aaron slowly turns back towards Washington. The anger has slowly dissipated, but Aaron is smart enough to know that he is still in some boiling water.

With that in mind, he doesn’t say a word and just stands at attention.

“Burr,” Washington says.

“Sir,” Aaron responds.

“You are being put on medical leave.”  
  
“Sir—”

“I thought that maybe the two of us could one day see eye-to-eye. Maybe one day we’d settle our differences,” Washington interrupts him.

“Sir, I—”

“But it has come to my attention that your disrespect for me cannot be overlooked any further. Your heatstroke has never fully healed. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your headaches getting worse or your visits to the nurse getting more frequent.”

“Your excellency—!”

“I’ll draft up the papers. Return to your tent, lieutenant colonel, and await further orders.”

“Commander—!”

“Are there any further questions?” Washington asks in a tone that suggests there should not be any.

Is _this_ another opportunity? Is _this_ a moment to wait? Is _this_ when he should step up to his beliefs?

All his life has led him to moments like this. What should he do?

It’s the spark in Alexander’s eyes that gets him his answer.

The same one he now sees in Washington.

“If you were given a moment where you could stand up for yourself or your friend, who would you choose?” Aaron asks.

Washington grabs the quill off his desk, putting it in ink and swiping a blank piece of paper near his free hand.

“I’m a man of honor. If you were to besmirch me in any way, I would gladly defend myself justifiably. However, should my friend find himself with ruined pride and a lost sense of worth, I would put them first barring it doesn’t hinder me,” he says.

Aaron takes these words and muddles over them for a moment.

He sees that spark in Washington’s eyes again.

“You’ve worked with Alexander long enough to understand where he’s coming from. Make no mistake, you made the right decision, not that you need me to tell you that. But don’t forget how valuable he is, not only to the Revolution…but to you,” Aaron says.

Washington pauses his writing momentarily. He glances up to meet Aaron’s eyes.

“And what of yourself…Burr? Are you of any value to me?” he asks.

Despite the situation, Aaron smiles. Shame only taking one half of the mantra does not work as well without the other half.

Instead of answering right away, he turns around and opens the tent flap. He looks over his shoulder to say one thing before leaving.

“Don’t you remember what Alex told you? I’m a terrible shot, your excellency.”

He doesn’t look back when the tent flap closes.

* * *

Aaron spends almost three years learning to live and love Theodosia with every fiber of his being.

Sure, he is called away a couple of times by Washington to attempt and aid a few skirmishes throughout the South, but otherwise he dedicates most of his time to his beloved Theodosia.

It is during one of his moments of simply admiring her beautiful face on one August night that he receives a knock at his door.

Despite the distraction, he still has a smile on his face as he opens the door…

…to Alexander.

“Alexander!” Aaron shouts in surprise.

“Aaron Burr, sir,” Alexander says with a smirk.

“It’s almost midnight, Alex. Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but I’m sure Eliza is worried, I…” Aaron’s speech fades away as he notices what Alex is dressed in.

It’s a soldier’s uniform. It’s not the aide-de-camp garb he’s used to, but a full-on Commander’s uniform.

“Oh shit,” Aaron says.

“I got the letter from the General yesterday. He called me to action to command a battalion in an assault on Yorktown. He’s pretty confident that this could be the turning point we need,” Alex says.

Aaron can’t help the smile from growing wider on his face.

“Well, Alex, congratulations. You’ve finally get your wish,” he says.

“And _you_ finally get to keep your promise.”

“Wait what?”

Alex smirks, taking a piece of paper out of his military coat.

“Yeah, he said to bring you along to serve under my command. Something about sticking up for your friend instead of yourself? You’d have to ask him.”

“Alex, I…am honored, but…”

“Theodosia? Try to talk to her. This is our chance, Aaron. This is what we’ve been waiting for! And to think, you can come home to see your beautiful daughter when it’s over!”

Aaron sighs, allowing himself a few moments to ponder the situation.

It’s a few more moments than he needs.

“Alright. I’ll dust off my old uniform and meet you at your place tomorrow,” Aaron says.

* * *

Alexander exits from Washington’s office brandishing a brand-new sword fit for his position as a commander. The smile on his face is infectious and more than enough to get Aaron to match him.

“He wants to see you next. I’ll go rendezvous with Lafayette and discuss some of the details. I’ll relay them to you and the rest of the team when I’m done, alright?” Alex asks.

The two shake hands and nods.

“I’ll see you there,” Aaron says.

After a few moments to try and collect himself, he knocks on the door.  
  
“Come in,” he hears the muffled voice of his General.

Aaron opens the door, stepping in and standing at attention in front of Washington’s desk.

“Burr, welcome back,” he says.

Aaron smiles, but otherwise doesn’t stray from his position.

“Before I send you off I just wanted to ask you a few questions. At ease,” Washington says.

Aaron complies, relaxing his shoulders and allowing his arms to rest at his side.

“As you need, your excellency,” he says.

“Aaron.”

It’s the usage of his first name that makes him stumble.

“S…sir?” he asks.

“Do you consider yourself Alexander’s friend?” he asks.

Aaron wastes no time to answer.

“Yes. I know I’m not as close to him as Lafayette or Laurens, but I’d like to think we’re still good friends,” he says.

“Good. Then I want you to promise me something…and I can assure you if you keep this promise, we will never be at odds again. Can you agree with this?”

It is here that causes Aaron to start narrowing is eyes and scratching his arms.

“What…what is it sir?” he asks.

“Can you agree with the deal, Aaron?” Washington asks again with much more vigor.

After swallowing a wad of saliva from his mouth, he answers.

“Yes sir,” he says.

“Promise me that you will stick by your friend. Promise me that you will defend your friend as you would have normally defended yourself. Promise me that you will always be at Alexander’s side fighting with him through whatever challenges he might face.”

The words start to sink into Aaron.

 _This_ is the opportunity he was afforded? _This_ was the opportunity he snatched for himself? He defend his friend and _this_ is the reaction he receives?

Despite his hesitance to continue, Aaron would be a fool question the General at this stage.

In for a penny…

“I promise you, sir, that I will defend my friend and be at his side, helping Alex face whatever challenge might come his way,” he says.

Washington nods before offering his hand.

Aaron immediately grips it tight.

* * *

We won.

After moving through the cover of night and taking one of the British redoubts, we finally succeeded.

Despite this, Aaron wasn’t focused on the dead, or the victory, or even the aftermath. No, he was focused on his friend and how much of a goddamn showman he was on the battlefield.

Once they see the white handkerchief in the distance, Alex immediately slaps Aaron on the shoulder and congratulates him. Aaron can’t help but smile, and neither bother to try and talk at all.

Following a few moments of deliberation with Alex, they agree to help collect their dead and then immediately start helping escort British solders out of Yorktown.

At the end of the day, both men find a certain level of glee in joining in on the drinking song.

“The world turned upside down.”

* * *

After the war, they both went back to New York. Both men had finished their studies in their time off and had taken the bar in Albany.

They were a powerhouse couple like the world has never seen.

Alexander let trials go on for ages, making sure to lead the witness as slyly as possible while making sure to let his words do the talking. And with Alex, there is never ‘few words’ involved.

On the other hand, Aaron was short with his words, but was persuasive and prominent enough to get his point across while still making sure he got what he wanted out of the trial.

They worked together on the very first murder trial, and from there, went on to have string of unrivaled acquittals.

Nobody wanted to go to court against them, and when they found out they _were_ facing them, the groans could often spell the death-knell for the entire thing.

In memory of their friend John Laurens, Alex and Aaron both argued in front of the New York State Assembly to lobby for freedom of all slaves.

They had failed.

Numerous times.

Only once had Aaron bothered to argue for women’s rights. Alex supported him as best as he could, but Aaron didn’t get very far before it was denied.

When not involved as a lawyer or a speaker, he still often served as a lieutenant colonel. Only small skirmishes here and there and nothing too threatening, but it allowed Aaron to realize what he really wanted to do.

In 1987, he publicly supported Alexander’s selection for the Constitutional Convention.

In private, he told Alex his own goals to get involved in a manner of politics.

Alex was supportive, of course.

Aaron’s goals started getting serious when he received a knock at the door one night.

He opened the door to find…

“Alexander?” Aaron asks.

“Aaron Burr, sir,” Alex says.

“Well, it's the middle of the night.” Aaron

“Can we confer, sir?” Alex.

“Is this a legal matter?”

“Yes, and it's important to me.”

“What do you need?”

“Burr, you're a better lawyer than me.”

Aaron takes the compliment with a shrug.

“Okay.”

“I know I talk too much, I'm abrasive. You're incredible in court. You're succinct, persuasive. My client needs a strong defense, you're the solution.”

There’s a catch here. There’s always a catch.

“Who's your client?” Aaron asks warily.

“The new U.S. Constitution?” Alex… _asks_?

Aaron takes a few moments before widening the door slightly. Alexander enters, noticing that the lights are on and there are a few papers spread throughout the room.

“Alexander…why do you need me in particular?” Aaron asks.

Aaron sits down in a chair. Alex remains standing, utilizing the floorspace to put on a show as if they’re in the middle of a trial and Aaron is on the stand.

“A series of essays, anonymously published defending the document to the public,” Alex says making sure to completely ignore Aaron’s question.

“No one will read it.”

“I disagree.”

“And if it fails?”

“Aaron, that's why we need it.”

A sigh escapes Aaron’s lips.

“Devil’s advocate here,” he says.

Alex nods. He understands that this is how it goes with Aaron sometimes. When trying to convince the man, sometimes seeing both sides helps the case.

“The constitution's a mess.”

“So it needs amendments.”

“It's full of contradictions.”

“So is independence. We _have_ to start somewhere.”

With another sigh, Aaron reaches his feet.

“Who else do you got?” he asks.

“James Madison has already agreed to help,” Alex says.

“Two Princetons and a King’s College huh?” Aaron asks with a smirk.

“The irony isn’t lost on me,” Alex answers.

Aaron nods, pondering over the opportunity presenting itself. This is a perfect chance to not only stand by Alex’s side, but to also fight for the cause of their new nation.

“And…these are anonymously published?” Aaron asks.

“Nobody needs to know,” Alex says.

Aaron stands up and starts to pace around the room. During this, Alex can’t help but have a smile on his face.

Eventually, Aaron turns towards Alex, joining him in the smile.

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

Alexander joins forces with James Madison and Aaron Burr to write a series of essays defending the new United States Constitution entitled The Federalist Papers.

The plan was to write a total of twenty-five essays, the work divided evenly among the three men.

In the end, they wrote 155 essays in the span of six months.

James Madison wrote 29 essays.

Aaron Burr managed to write 45 essays before lapsing back into a heatstroke.

Hamilton wrote…the other eighty-one!

* * *

“I have gathered both of you here because I need your help,” Washington says behind his mahogany desk.

Both Aaron and Alex stand at attention, both too used to doing nothing differently in the near decade it has been since they did anything otherwise.

Alex glances over at Aaron.

They meet eyes.

Alex smirks.

Aaron narrows his eyes.

“I need men I can trust to help and assist me in running this country the way it needs to be run. I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I could use the two of you in my Cabinet,” Washington says.

“Treasury or state?” Alex asks with the smirk on his face.

Aaron stumbles and turns towards Alex, his eyes wide.

“I know it’s asking a lot. Both of you have wives and children to take care of, but I could definitely use your experiences as lawyers and as my former aides,” Washington continues.

“Treasury or state?” Alex asks once again, the smirk not leaving whatsoever.

Aaron shakes his head towards his friend.

“You’re leaving them behind, and I know it’s going to be hard, but—”

“Sir, do you want us to run the Treasury or State departments?” Alex asks.

Aaron can’t help but pinch his nose as if his old heatstroke is coming back to haunt him. Maybe _this_ is all the hallucination. He hasn’t seen Hallucination Washington in a while.

“Uh…Treasury,” Washington says.

Alex slaps a hand on Aaron’s shoulder and looks towards both men.

“Les’ go,” he says.


	2. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look the chapters went up another one because this ended up being longer than I intended. No chapter split. I just have plans for an epilogue.
> 
> Due warning: lots of language.
> 
> More of an actual warning: I try to mix a lot of real life with the alternate history and version of Aaron I've created. It gets messy a few times but I think I tie it all back together.
> 
> Another actual warning: the timelines gets all fuddly wuddly with reality, but if Lin can get away with fudging it in the musical than I can get away with making a lot of Aaron's major life events happen in the span of two years.
> 
> Random Thing I Just Remembered: I'm moving it to M because there's a lot of fucks dropped in this and I figure I should be safer rather than sorrier.

Alex names Aaron his Under Secretary upon his gifting of the position of Secretary of Treasury. Once again, Aaron and Alex find themselves on a battlefield side-by-side, albeit one completely different than that of Yorktown.

No, the cabinet meetings the two endure could often be described as hectic and bombastic. A collection of men arguing over different ideals and ideas and neither side ever truly coming to a decision. Quite often it comes down to a close majority vote, or, if things get _really_ bad, Commander Washington steps in and makes his opinion public.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why his opinion is often the one that’s voted on.

Despite their situation, both Aaron and Alex find themselves working in tandem to design the United States financial system.

This is where their first real disagreement comes into play.

“Alex…are you really sure this is the best idea?” he asks one day.

The two of them are in Alex’s office, sharing a glass of whiskey over the various papers lining the mahogany.

“Where do you see a flaw Aaron?” Alex answers with another question.

With a sigh, Aaron stands up and looks around the papers, gauging himself before beginning the argument.

Both men are still lawyers at heart.

“Alex, by combining every states’ debt into the country’s and resetting it, you’re taking the idea of unity too far. I agree that a process for national finance is smart, but taking away the choice from the states at the start is taking too much with little in return,” Aaron says.

“This is the only feasible way for this system to work. We can’t allow individual states to go into business for themselves immediately. It will tarnish the whole system and dismantle its core idea. We _have_ to allow complete unity. Only then can states be allowed freedom with the newfound finances that are poured in,” Alex responds.

The two spend the majority of the day going back and forth on this decision.

Eliza, bless her heart, does her best to interfere only once.

Afterwards, all she ends up doing is refilling their whiskey glasses for the rest of the night.

Once things have settled and both men have allowed the alcohol to ease their senses, the two have finally sat down and compromised.

“Alex…I can’t agree with this system. However…I trust you,” Aaron says.

Alex smiles from behind a copy of _Common Sense_ covering his face. He takes the book off and throws it into the pile of papers. The two shake hands over the mess before standing out of their seats.

It is Alex who pulls Aaron into the hug. The latter can’t help but freeze and widen his eyes. Those few moments are all he needs for reassurance before hugging his friend back.

When they separate, Alex slaps a hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Can I trust you to have your support at the very least?” Alex asks.

Aaron smirks and slaps Alex on the opposite shoulder.

“That…you can always have reassurance of, my friend,” Aaron says.

* * *

“Ah yes, Mr. Hamilton. I have heard plenty about you,” the arrogant asshole has the gall to say.

Rumors tend to grow in New York City, doubly so in politics, triply so when it pertains to cocky pricks like one Thomas Jefferson.

Alex and Jefferson shake hands, the tension between the two men growing with just a shared glance. Aaron knows that these two would never get along even if they had the same opinions on things. Jefferson is too pushy. He’s too cocky. He knows how to piss you off.

He’s like Alex only worse, somehow.

The worst part is that Aaron can see the same shining glint in his eye that he sees in Alex, that he sees in Washington, that he sees in himself.

Fortunately, Aaron looks over the prick’s shoulder to spot his old confidante James Madison. It’s only fortunate because the glint in his eyes is nowhere to be seen, having faded away through years of sickness and taking backseats to men like Alex or Jefferson.

“I’m afraid the same can not be said about you…?” Jefferson asks.

He holds his hand towards Aaron. They meet eyes once again. Jefferson raises his eyebrow with a smirk, but Aaron matches him. The two shake hands, gripping them tight as Aaron’s smile grows.

“Really? James never spoke of his old buddy Aaron Burr?” he asks rhetorically.

Given Madison only responds by coughing a bit into his handkerchief, the answer is fairly self-explanatory.

Jefferson lets the handshake divide and looks over his shoulder towards Madison.

“Oh, you mean the guy who helped Alex and him write those papers? The guy who graduated college so early because his daddy forced the school’s hand?” Jefferson asks.

He turns back towards Aaron with a smirk. It only grows when he sees Aaron’s smile twitch.

Luckily, or not, depending on your point of view, Washington steps in between them.

“Gentlemen, the cabinet meeting is about to begin. Please, take your seats,” he says.

He looks at Jefferson with a smile before turning towards Aaron and Alex. His drops his smile and uses his head to indicate them to do as they are told.

Like they’re his children or something.

Aaron and Alex briefly share a look…before Alex smirks.

Oh no…

* * *

“If we assume the debts, the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic. How do you not get it, if we're aggressive and competitive the union gets a boost, you'd rather give it a sedative?” Alex spits on the floor for everyone around him to hear.

It starts off amicably enough. The usual barbs back and forth, but otherwise a legitimate attempt at trying to persuade the congress to push the plan through.

If you know anything about Alex, you know Aaron has his hands gripping his head in frustration in only a few more sentences.

“A civics lesson from a slaver, hey neighbor! Your debts are paid ‘cause you don't pay for labor!”

It is then that Aaron gets up. Washington notices this but doesn’t react yet. Figures. Why get involved if he has Aaron to ‘watch Alex’s back’? Whatever. This is essentially what Aaron signed up for when he agreed to his position as Alex’s second in the treasury department.

“Alex…” Aaron warns.

“’We plant seeds in the South. We create.’ Yeah, keep ranting. We know who's really doing the planting,” Alex continues.

“Alex,” Aaron is much more dire.

He grabs Alex’s arm to try and get his attention, but Alex has already started his roll and Aaron is weaker than a _leaf_ trying to stop him.

“And another thing, Mr. Age of Enlightenment, don't lecture me about the war, you didn't fight in it. You think I'm frightened of you, man? We almost died in a trench…” Alex says using his fingers to point out himself, Aaron, and Washington. “…while you were off getting high with the French.”

It is then that Alex sifts his hands through his nonexistent hair. He steps away, blowing his breath away.

Alex has gone too far and Aaron has missed yet another opportunity to stop him.

Doesn’t Alex get it? The more enemies he makes, the harder it is for him. The harder it is for _both of them_.

“Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President. Reticent there isn't a plan he doesn't jettison.”

Aaron turns back around and just covers his mouth awaiting the soon-to-be collapse. He glances over at the sound of Madison beginning to cough into his handkerchief. Jefferson turns around to try and calm him down, but he is stopped as Alex continues to spit.

“Madison, you're mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine. Damn, you're in worse shape than the national debt is in!”

Washington stands up and matches eyes with Aaron. He can see the Commander use his pupils to indicate him to put a stop to Alex’s antics.

It’s a futile frantic on his part, but he again tries to grab at Alex. He wraps his arms around his chest, trying to get him back.

Unfortunately, Alex’s worst weapon is still free to plant that one last shot into Jefferson: his mouth.

“Sittin there useless as two shits! Hey, turn around, bend over, I'll show you where my shoe fits.”

“Excuse me?” it’s Washington’s appalled command that reawakens Alex. His stunned silence is enough for Aaron to push him back and get in between him and Jefferson, who himself has a collection of his allies doing their own part to keep him away.

Washington stands in between them and locks eyes with everyone in the middle of the congress floor.

“Madison, Jefferson, take a walk,” he says. “Hamilton, Burr, take a walk…"

Aaron has served as Washington’s aide-de-camp. He’s served as his confidante on the battlefield numerous times. He’s served under him as the Under Secretary of Treasury.

Aaron knows an order from the man when he hears it. It’s only his personal conversations with the man that knows there’s a warning hidden in the command.

“Gentlemen, take a quick breather. We're gonna reconvene after a brief recess,” Washington says.

The smile on his face fools nobody as he glances around the room at the departing bodies. He turns back towards them and drops it quicker than Aaron’s ever seen.

"Gentlemen,” he knows he has their attention so he doesn’t bother asking for it.

“Sir?” Alex and Aaron both inquire in unison.

“A word."

Washington walks away from them once again. The two follow his departure for a few moments before turning back towards Jefferson. He fixes his overcoat with a smirk on his face.

“You don't have the votes,” he says.

“You don’t have the votes,” Madison echoes from behind him.

“Ah ha—ha, ha-ha,” Jefferson audibly chuckles.

“You’re going to need congressional approval and you don’t have the votes,” Madison says.

He and Aaron lock eyes themselves. The anger on the latter’s face is enough to get the former to break contact.

“Such a blunder sometimes it makes me wonder why I even bring the thunder,” Jefferson says as he walks away.

“Why he even brings the thunder?” Madison echoes again, regaining enough courage.

Aaron shakes his head and places a hand on Alex’s chest as he attempts a rebuttal.

The two lock eyes and nod at each other.

* * *

“Do the two of you understand what you are doing?” Washington asks.

They’ve gathered in a corner of the hallway that nobody ever goes to. And if they do, they certainly won’t with Washington having claimed it by looming over his two closest pains in the neck.

“I’m sorry, these Virginians are birds of a feather,” Alex retorts.

“Alex—” Aaron tries to warn him but is interrupted by Washington.

“Young man, I'm from Virginia, so watch your mouth,” he says.

“Alex, you’re too damn pushy. You _know_ we could convince Madison if we have him alone, but the more you rile up Jefferson and his allies the farther away you are from getting the plan through,” Aaron says.

“Oh no, Burr, do _not_ think you’re in the clear here,” Washington says.

“What?” Burr asks in an amount of surprise that even strikes Alex.

“Alexander is _your_ responsibility, as has been made clear,” Washington.

"I am a grown-man, do _not_ treat me like your child.” Alex.

“Do you understand the idea of compromise or are you seriously blinded by your ego?” Washington asks in a question that he expects no answer for.

“Not to mention the fact that you can’t control him. We’ve all tried it, we both know the futility in it,” Aaron mutters.

“Excuse me?” it’s Alex’s turn to be surprised.

“You’re his Under Secretary, Burr. Your job is to keep a handle on him…or did you forget our conversation?” Washington asks.

“What are you suggesting then? Let this plan die and have our country be in debt for however long it takes for Great Britain to come slamming our doors in?” Alex.

“No, Washington, and your continuous reminder does nobody any favors. Alexander, I believe you have this handled,” Aaron says.

He turns around and reenters the doors of congress.

He ignores whatever statements the men behind him argue over next. It clearly doesn’t involve him anymore.

* * *

He really should have known better.

“Alex why are you here?” Aaron asks.

The two of them are meeting in Aaron’s office. Once again, it is the middle of the night.

After quietly insisting that both Theodosias return to bed, the two men grab a glass of whiskey and start talking shop.

“How is Theodosia doing?” Alex asks.

Aaron sighs and takes a drink of the damned concoction.

“My daughter is doing fantastic. Her and Philip are getting along great now that he’s finally found somebody who he can rival,” he says.

Alex lets out a quick, humorless laugh as Aaron continues.

“My wife seems to be getting weaker every day. The doctors can’t seem to understand why, but at this point, I can only hope that she pulls through,” he says.

“Aaron?”  
  
“Alex?”

“Why are you my Under Secretary?”

Aaron sets down the glass of whiskey to ponder the question.

No, not the question, but the intention of it. Why is he in the position Washington offered him? Why is he Alex’s highest secretary?

Why is he right next to Alex in the position he is?

“Because it was Washington’s request,” Aaron answers.

“Aaron, come on. Cut the niceties for once in your life,” Alex exclaims.

He sets his own glass down and stands with his arms crossing his chest.

“We both know this position does nothing for you. You want to make a change in the world but can’t do it under me. What happened to fighting for freedom for all men?” he asks.

“For all _people_ Alexander,” Aaron corrects with no lack of vigor.  
  
“Yes, exactly! Where’s that fire at? I’ve seen it in your eyes in the battlefield. I’ve seen it in your eyes when you go up against Washington. Hell, Aaron, I’ve seen that fire in every place but on the congress floor. Can you really expect to do all that you want to do with where you are?” Alex asks.

Aaron sighs and takes a sip of the whiskey.

“What is this about Alex?” he asks.

Alex releases some breath himself and mirrors the man. Once the alcohol has started to make its way through their system, he decides to answer.

“Aaron…you’re a Democratic-Republican in everything but name only,” he says.

“I’m sorry, would you please expand on your hypothesis here or was it said with the sole intention of pissing me off?” Aaron asks.

The grip around his glass gets tighter. The ever-observant Alex notices this and raises his palms up and out in surrender.

“Hear me out. For all the good conversation we can have, how many of those talks in the last year or so of your time in this position have been about our differing ideals?” he asks.

Aaron stops and thinks about the question.

When he can’t answer it in a half a minute, Alex responds.

“Exactly. Aaron, you promised me ages ago that despite our differences you would always have my back. How can you expect to do that when you’re too busy looking at it?”

This…this is an opportunity. He can see it now.

Alex is giving him a way out. Alex is allowing Aaron the chance to make a decision on his own accord. The only people who know about Aaron’s difficulties in these moments are in his house at this very moment.

His daughter loves him more than anything and as he does her, but she is yet too young to fully comprehend the concept. As intelligent as she is and growing moreso by the way, she still lacks the ability to understand.

His wife…his beautiful, loving, smart, wonderful, kind, caring wife…she understands that their marriage only occurred because Aaron took the opportunity presented to himself. He didn’t wait for it to pass him by. He utilized his best friend’s advice and went for it.

And now this same best friend is offering him a choice.

“What are you proposing Alex?” he asks.

“My father-in-law has been contemplating retirement from all of this since his last reelection, but his Schuyler pride won’t allow him to go down without a fight. I know that he would love to spend more time with his grandchildren before he passes. I also know the Sisters would love nothing more to share their moments with him while they still can,” Alex says.

The implication is easy to read.

It doesn’t make it any less shocking.

“Alex…are you sure about this?”

“Aaron…I will openly support you running for New York Senator…all I ask is one favor.”

A favor for a friend?

It’s the easiest decision of his life.

“Anything, Alex. You name it,” Aaron says.

“I am going to be spending all summer trying to get this debt plan through. My family are going to be away for that entire timeframe so we’d have the house to ourselves and all the time and freedom in the world to do what it takes to get this done,” Alex says.

Aaron narrows his eyes, taking a sip of the whiskey to gather his thoughts.

“Washington put pressure on you. He knows if there’s no plan to figure out the debt, the nation still isn’t created. He also knows you’d be out of a job—no… _we’d_ be out of a job should this last into the next term.”

All Alex does is nod. It’s all Aaron needs to see.

“Okay…yes, absolutely,” he says.

Aaron sets his glass down and the two shake hands. It lasts for only a few seconds before the two share yet another hug.

When they separate, Alex nods his head and finishes off his glass of whiskey.

“Alright…alright,” he says.

He starts pumping himself and looking through the papers on Aaron’s desk.

“Let’s meet at my place tomorrow. We’ll start figuring out what our strategy is. Get a good night’s sleep…I doubt we’re going to be able to catch a wink of it until August…hopefully.”

* * *

_Dear Alexander,_

_I stood by your side at every opportunity I had a chance to. At Yorktown, in the Cabinet, with your debt plan, and with your other faculties. I even stood by you when you proposed the preposterous idea of a quid-pro-quo with the merciless Jefferson and Madison. I might have agreed with the terms and to support you in any way I could, despite the ludicrous idea of moving the US capital to a Southern controlled region._

_Now, writing this letter, I must ask you to stand by me._

_You promised me that I would have your support in the coming election when I attempt to run for Senator of New York. I can only hope now that your promise will be fulfilled. I have no doubt it shall, I just wished to write to you in earnest about this._

_Alex…you are my best friend. You know me more than anybody else. I’d argue even more than my wife. You know my beliefs, my ideals, and what I would do to get what I want. You also know me as a compassionate man who taught you to wait for an opportunity, to allow the enemy to be surprised when you turn against their vision of you._

_I sit here, writing you, and requesting your formal support in my political endeavor come November._

_Your dear friend, A. Burr_

* * *

Aaron starts to notice the change in his friend when Maria Reynolds first knocks on their door.

It doesn’t seem too out of the ordinary, albeit somewhat odd to get a visit from her this late at night. But damn his weary heart, he can’t help but believe her story. A husband who mistreats his wife and then leaves her for another woman is far from out of the ordinary after all, especially during these post-war highs. It’s one of the biggest reasons he’s so adamant about fighting for rights for women.

Things don’t start getting weird for Aaron until he wakes up at Alex’s desk to a house with only him in it.

Maybe Alex had trouble finding her house? Maybe she offered him a side-room to sleep in because it was so late? The house shouldn’t have been that far, but perhaps in her distress she failed to notice the distance.

Yes…that must be it.

Alex’s return cuts his thoughts off before he can think too much into it.

* * *

It isn’t until the next year that Aaron starts being less naïve about the situation.

When Aaron arrives at Alex’s abode and knocks on the door, he doesn’t receive a response. However, he notices the door is unlocked. Before he can properly open it, however, the door finds itself familiar with his face.

Aaron steps back and rubs at his nose. He looks up and sees Maria Reynolds walking away. She pays him no mind as she adjusts her bodice.

Oh.

_Oh._

Aaron stops the door from closing. He sees Alex adjusting his shirt, looking anywhere but at the door as if that alone will free him from the guilt.

After shaking his head, Aaron slams the front door shut.

“Did you forget some—?”

Alexander turns around and finds Aaron, crossing his arms and glaring a hole through his head.

Alex stops adjusting his shirt. He lets it sit on his body for a moment before turning around. Aaron is close behind him as they enter Alex’s office.

Once the door is shut and Alex begins to face his fate, Aaron grabs him by his collar and shoves him into the desk.

“Alex what in the hell are you doing?” Aaron demands.

“Aaron, please—”

“Your family are on vacation and _this_ is how you spend your time? When I’m not here, you’re with _her_?”

“Aaron, calm down!”

Aaron lets his friend go. He steps back, placing his hands on his face to try and gather his thoughts and follow Alex’s advice.

“Look…I’m not proud of what I’m doing…but James Reynolds knows about everything and at this point, I can’t say no,” Alex says.

“Bullshit! What the hell would Eliza think, huh? Do you think she would care?”

Alex’s eyes narrow and focus on Aaron’s.

“Really? You of all people?” he asks.

“What?” Aaron asks with no less vigor.

It’s more in confusion at the question’s relevance than anything.

“What would Jacques Prevost thing if he knew what you and Theodosia did while he was fighting for his country?”

Aaron approaches Alex and raises a fist.

“You have _no_ right to criticize me for this!” Alex shouts.

Before Aaron can even think about striking him, he stops.

But…Prevost was a British officer. Their enemy. Their hatred for the redcoats knows no bounds, which isn’t dissimilar to his love of Theodosia. They were meant for each other. Prevost was a coward, a failure as a man and a husband who chose success over that of his family.

What he and Theodosia had was different…right?

“I haven’t said a word to anybody about her and I never plan to…but I’ll be damned if I’m criticized for this,” Alex says. “Especially by you, Aaron.”

The two lock eyes. The tension slowly starts to fade with their heavy breathing.

After a few more moments of fixing their clothes and thinking about things, Alex grabs a pair of whiskey glasses off the table. He grabs the bottle and fills them both up. After placing the bottle down, he offers one of them towards Aaron with the now free hand.

“Nobody needs to know…” Alex says.

No.

Alexander _promises_.

Aaron accepts the glass.

This is another opportunity. The last opportunity Alex offered allowed him the seat in the senate which he won by a landslide, mostly thanks to that same man’s support.

The last opportunity Alex offered him gave him everything he’s ever wanted. He has a position of influence and has the chance to bring forth all the ideas he’s ever wanted to utilize and make known.

This is the last opportunity Alexander Hamilton would ever offer him.

Of that, Aaron can be sure of.

The two clink their glasses together.

“Nobody needs to know…” Aaron vows.

* * *

“You must be out of your goddamn mind if you think…”

There he goes again. As always, Alexander does little to reign himself in. The poor bastard who replaced him on Alex’s staff doesn’t even bother moving to restrain him.

Aaron glimpses over at Washington who rubs his head in annoyance.

Heh. Must be only a problem if Aaron’s the one not doing his ‘best’ to stop his friend.

“Enough! Hamilton is right,” Washington eventually intercedes.

“Mr. President…” Jefferson pleads.

Despite his position as a Democratic-Republican New York Senator, theoretically on the same side as Jefferson, he can’t help but find himself agreeing with the Commander on this point. Maybe it’s the soldier in him or his belief in Alexander’s abilities in regards to battle, but a war is the last thing _anybody_ needs right now.

Doubly so for him with his wife stuck in her bed per the doctor’s orders.

“Frankly, it's a little disquieting you would let your ideals blind you to reality,” Washington critiques Jefferson.

Heh. Irony.

With the session unofficial adjourned, Aaron stands up. As other congressman start making their way out, Jefferson and Alexander have a confrontation in the middle of the floor because they’re dramatic fools who don’t understand the concept of privacy.

“Did you forget Lafayette?” Jefferson asks.

“What?” Alex and Aaron ask at the same time.

Madison glances over and spots Aaron making his way towards them.

“Have you an ounce of regret? You accumulate debt, you accumulate power, yet in their hour of need, you forget,” Jefferson states.

Aaron is about to say something until Alexander interrupts.

“Lafayette's a smart man, he'll be fine, and before he was your friend, he was mine,” he says.

Aaron sighs and starts to pinch the crown of his nose.

“If we try to fight in every revolution in the world, we never stop. Where do we draw the line?” Alex asks.

“So quick witted…” Jefferson says with a false smile on his face.

“No shit…” Aaron mutters.

“Alas, I admit it,” Alex says.

He looks towards Aaron with remnants of a smile crossing his face.

“I bet you were quite a lawyer,” Jefferson says.

The smile on his face is more akin to a smirk at this point. This allows Alex to gain the fake smile.

“My defendants got acquitted,” he says.

“Yeah, well, someone oughta remind you.”

“What?”

“You’re _nothing_ without Washington behind you.”  
  
“Hamilton,” Washington says from the doorway.

Aaron spies him having just entered. The two lock eyes with Aaron raising one of his eyebrows.

“Daddy’s calling,” Jefferson whispers so only those on the floor can hear it.

Hamilton turns away and walks towards Washington. Aaron steps off the stairs and grabs Jefferson’s shoulder, turning him around and causing them to be face-to-face.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you take everything this personally or is it just because it’s Alexander?” he asks.

“Oh step-off Burr, we both know Hamilton’s just a quill with support,” Jefferson says.

“Wow, you _are_ dense. Madison, who was it that helped us write the documents that convinced our country to go through with the constitution?” Aaron asks. He doesn’t wait for a response before turning back to Jefferson. “Trick question: he didn’t help us so much as do most of the work.”

Madison steps forward, coughing a few times into his handkerchief before responding.

“Aaron, please, you have to see reason. Hamilton is a threat to not only us, but to our nation,” he says.

“Really? We consider allies threats now?” Aaron asks.

“We do if they’re reaching a point of no return,” Jefferson says. “Open your damn eyes, Burr. Washington can control this nation however he wants and anybody without a strait-laced opinion could care less to counteract him. Meanwhile, Hamilton accrued all the debts of every state to allow us a free economy. Does this _not_ scream like a monarchy to you?”

"Are you insinuating that Washington would dare—?”

“Dare what?” Jefferson asks. “Run this country into the ground just to remain in power? You know him better than I do. What do _you_ think?"

Aaron shakes his head and looks to the floor. After a moment, he meets Jefferson’s eyes.

“Washington is a lot of things. Inconsistent, demanding, disrespectful, hypocritical, and unforgiving…but he is anything but dishonest. Yeah…we have our differences…but Washington believed in fighting for this country.”

“He also believed in fighting with the British against the French and Indians,” Madison pipes in.

“He’s also not too proud to own a few slaves here and there,” Jefferson says with a smirk on his face “Near as I can tell that’s one of your biggest adversaries despite being a member of the ‘slave-supporting’ party, isn’t that right, _Senator_ Burr?”

Aaron looks at both men in front of him. He shakes his head again and turns to leave.

“You can’t deny the truth Aaron,” Madison says.

He steps forward, past Jefferson, standing behind Aaron.

"If any of us ever _truly_ want to make a stand, take our beliefs to the next level, or at least let this country move on…we need to get rid of Hamilton,” he says.

“Why?” Aaron asks.

He stops but does not turn around.

“Because he proves the biggest threat to our country. The man suggested borderline monarchy at the Constitutional Convention, and you don’t find it a bit odd the way he went about securing his power?” Madison asks.

“We’re not asking you help us take down the bastard immigrant…we just need your help to know where to look,” Jefferson says. “A guy like Hamilton doesn’t get where he is without a few skeletons in his closet.”

Alexander is a man of honesty…he wears his opinion on his sleeve…but he was dishonest with his wife and children.

Alexander is a man of trust…but he’s also the same man who held his _wife_ against him when _he_ was the one who told him to go and get her.

Alexander is a man of virtue…but he’s also the same man who broke that virtue when he kept things up with Maria Reynolds.

Alexander is Aaron’s best friend…and he’d be dammed if he let his best friend turn into somebody who would despise himself.

Washington made him promise to look out for Alexander and be by his side as his friend…and he still has that promise to keep.

Aaron looks over his shoulder at Madison.

“James Reynolds,” he says.

“Come again?” Jefferson asks.

“James Reynolds… _that’s_ the man you should look into,” Aaron says.

Without another word, Aaron walks away, leaving the two Democratic-Republicans behind to ponder the clue.

* * *

“Mr. President…you wanted to see me?” Aaron asks.

He stands at attention, the letter in his hand behind him in the best parchment they sell.

“Yes, Senator Burr. At ease…please,” Washington says.

Aaron allows himself this. He brings his parchment in front of him, looking up towards Washington.

“As I understand, Mr. Burr, you wanted to see me as well?”

“I insist…er…sir,” Aaron says. “How might I be of some assistance?”

“I wanted to give you a word of warning.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but can this wait ‘til morning?” Aaron asks.

“Thomas Jefferson resigned…” Washington says.

Aaron takes a few moments to allow his shock to show. Despite this, Aaron still places the paper on Washington’s desk.

“This wasn’t how it was designed…I must follow suit in Mr. Jefferson’s relieving,” he says.

Washington grabs the parchment and takes a few moments to read it over.

“Are you saying that you’ll be leaving?” he asks.

“As you say sir,” Aaron says. “I can not condone my behavior.”

Washington folds the parchment in front of him. He places it back on his desk.

“Senator Burr…I just want to ensure that _this_ is the course of action you wish to partake in,” Washington says.

“Mr. President…as you know firsthand, I have had trouble in the past of respecting authority. I can not sit where I am and allow the Secretaries of State and Treasury to go back and forth like children. Alas, I must admit I am compromised from both sides. I support the Democratic-Republicans in most of their beliefs, but I can _not_ support Jefferson. As you know, I consider Alexander a close friend of mine…but seeing what he’s becoming, I…I can’t… _trust_ in that sir.”

Washington lets out a sigh. He places a glass of already filled whiskey in front of Aaron.

“So your solution is to run for a President? Mr. Burr, you’re aware that Jefferson has more allies than you, yes? And Alexander is bound to support his own Federalist cohort in Adams. With no offense intended, I have to ask…do you truly believe you have a chance at winning?” he asks.

Aaron grabs the glass of the desk. He takes a drink of it before placing it back where it was originally.

“Mr. President…I can’t help but notice your name was not included in that list,” he says.

Washington smirks, allowing a few chuckles to release from his lips. He sighs once again before grabbing a glass of his own. He takes a sip before placing it back down.

“Nothing can ever get past you, can it Mr. Burr? You would be correct. I am stepping down. I’m not running for president,” he says.

Aaron narrows his eyes and focuses on the man standing across the desk from him.

“Sir…can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I may return in kind,” Washington says.

The two grab their respective glasses, beginning to drink amicably.

“Why did you promote Charles Lee?” Aaron asks.

Washington smirks past the whiskey still in his mouth. After swallowing it, he gives his response.

“There were rumors at the time that Horatio Gates was conspiring to overthrow me as Commander. At the time, General Lee was on parole and had not heard anything about this conspiracy. My plan was to place him in charge to throw Gates off. Unfortunately, my plan had some drawbacks,” he says.

“He was out of commission for so long and saw what the army looked like. To be blunt: it wasn’t pretty,” Aaron says.

After another sip of the whiskey, Washington can’t help but laugh a bit.

“No, Burr, it was not. He assumed that the ugliness of war was my doing, and not due to any complications of the war itself. He initially refused the command at Monmouth,” he says. “I had Lafayette take the lead, but Lee, as indecisive as ever, reneged on his decision. It seemed the right call given the situation. Unfortunately, that was where my mistake cost me.”

“Mr. President…Charles Lee was not an awful commander and I _can_ attest to the good he did on that battlefield. Unfortunately, between the British advancement and inconsistent communication, he panicked. I’m not defending his actions, but I must admit the whole situation seemed…faulty…from the start.”

Washington smirks and takes another drink of the whiskey.

“Mr. Burr…”

He sets the glass down and looks directly at Aaron.

“…why do you believe you could be President?”

This question causes Aaron to widen his eyes. He sets the glass down on the desk in case the shock makes its way to his arm.

“Is it power? It is a belief in yourself? Tell me, honestly, Mr. Burr…what makes you think you could be the President?” Washington asks.

“Sir…I…”

Washington crosses his arms but otherwise allows Aaron to collect his thoughts.

This is another opportunity. One provided, once again, by Washington.

This is not one he cannot afford to fail.

“Commander…I believe I could be a president because I have the foresight and knowledge to know when to take action and when to fight. All my life I’ve followed the same creed of…talk less and smile more…but as of recent I’ve found my motto to be…lacking. I understand the idea of allowing things to play out and to take my time and make a decision, but…I’d be a damn fool to think your position allows me the freedom to do as I need to. I believe I can change that.”

“You believe being President allows you to make changes to the system?” Washington asks.

“No…but I believe I can convince people the changes that I _believe_ _in_ could be _good_ for the system. Mr. President you have built a working business for this nation. It works…but it is still flawed. It requires changes and amendments. I believe that I have the power to allow these changes and amendments to take place.”

“Really? What makes you think you have these qualities?”

He takes his glass and starts to drink some more whiskey.

Aaron doesn’t.

He ponders the question for a bit, but altogether doesn’t answer the one provided.

“Sir…you’re implying I don’t,” he says.

“Aaron…can I be honest with you?” Washington asks.

“Considering the last time you were honest with me you made me make a promise I had no hope of ever fully committing to, I’m afraid as to where this could be going,” Aaron says.

“Oh, you mean the one where you promised to be Alexander’s friend and stay by his side? The one you’ve followed dutifully up until this moment?” Washington asks.

“Yes, sir, you can be honest with me,” Aaron grunts.

The frustration starts to seep into his voice. It’s also a torture talking to Washington.

“Aaron, you have potential to be a great leader…but not _the_ leader. You’re a great second in command. You’re a great assistant. You have…good ideas, but you lack the conviction and dedication to make them a reality. Besides, your fantastical ideas of freeing slaves and allowing women’s rights might be good ones, but this country is not yet ready for them,” Washington says.  
  
“So you propose I allow anything I might call mine to be forgotten about?” Aaron asks.

At this point, the pretense of authority has been thrown out. Aaron clenches his fists at his side.

“I propose you follow somebody who _can_ make them a reality…which is why I wanted you to stick by Alexander’s side,” Washington answers. “We both know Alexander is a ticking time-bomb prepared to blow. I respect the man and I respect his vision, but I know without me, he has no chance of remaining on this staff.”

“Sir, why the fuck does everything I do have to involve Hamilton?” Aaron suddenly asks.

He slams his fist on the desk, causing the whiskey class to spill over onto the papers. The parchment that was placed there by Washington gets drowned in the alcohol.

“I decide to do something for myself _once_ and I am criticized. I stand up for myself against Charles Lee and you ridicule me. I go into battle despite my own thoughts and I am a good soldier. I get heatstroke and I am immediately poked and prodded by you despite the doctor’s advice. I agree to be at Alexander’s side despite our disagreements because he _is_ my best friend, but I can’t support anything he believes in because he believes too much in action and not _re_ action. So tell me, _Washington_ , why _can’t_ I run for President? Am I too soft? Am I too impatient? Am I too abrasive or inactive or silent or disrespectful?”

Aaron shakes his head and grabs the parchment containing his resignation.

“If you believe that I belong at Alexander’s side for the rest of my life than I guess that’s where you think I should be…”

He rips the parchment in half, a task made only easier by it being wet now. He lets it go and two halves of paper fall to the floor.

“…but I’ll be dammed if I let _you_ of all people tell me where I should be. Good day, Mr. President.”

With that, Aaron turns around reaches the door to the Office. Before he can turn the knob, Washington speaks up once more.

“You and Alex are like—”

“No!” Aaron turns around.

He points his finger towards the man behind the mahogany desk.

“No! We are _not_ your sons. Fathers treat their sons with dignity. They allow them to choose their path and support as they can, but teach them the ideals and manners that will allow to live their best life. _Fathers_ do not criticize their son at every turn. _Fathers_ do not shun them for choosing to do what they want to do. _Fathers_ do not discredit them because they stand up for what they believe in. You are _no_ father and we are _not_ your sons!” Aaron shouts.

The two remain standing in the room. Washington is looking at the floor, holding his glass of whiskey in his hand. He swirls it around in his hand as Aaron calms down.

“We got where we are on our own…and I can guarantee you…if you _ever_ say that in front of Alexander…you will _not_ like what happens…from _either_ of us. Good day…George…”

* * *

Alexander’s dealings with James Reynolds goes public.

Nobody but Alexander and himself know the truth and he is prone to keeping it that way.

Alexander is as prone as he usually is, in that he confronts those who revealed the truth.

Naturally, it begins with Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, the two who initially confronted him in private and whom Alexander gave all pertinent documents to.

He calls them out for their deviousness in the situation, but the two of them point the blame not at Aaron, but at James Monroe.

After confronting _Monroe_ , the two get into an argument which ends with Monroe challenging Alexander to a duel.

Once again, Aaron is chosen as a second despite his complete unwillingness to do so.

To keep up appearances, he accepts.

Fortunately for everyone, things die down before it ever goes past Commandment Three.

* * *

“Burr!” Alexander calls for him.

It’s not long after the duel is called off. The two meet outside the tavern they first attended all those years ago.

“Alexander…” Aaron says.

“Tell me, what inspired Jefferson and Madison to inquire on my proposed _dealings_ with James Reynolds?” Alex asks.

They both know the answer to the question so Aaron takes a new route.

“I only told them where to look. Reynolds had issues with the law long before you were ever involved. The man is a coward and took a coward’s way out. Instead of going down with his ship, he took down everybody he could,” he says.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe it wasn’t to save your own skin?” Alexander asks.

“Yes, actually. Alexander, I am your friend. I had no intention of harming you _or_ your family,” Aaron says.

“How can I trust you Aaron? You’ve used the one thing you held against me the first time you had an opportunity to.”

“How can _you_ trust _me_?” Aaron asks.

The shock is enough to get Alexander to step back.

“Alexander, I have fought with every fiber of my being to stand by your side. I have agreed with you on various fronts but the one thing I have _never_ agreed with is your obsession with your goddamn legacy. You and your pride will be the death of us all at this rate. It’s what got you fired by Adams and it’s what got you ridiculed by the public. And yet, despite all of that, I am still willing to call you my friend. Tell me Alexander…can you do the same?”

Alexander doesn’t initially respond. He takes a few moments to think things over to himself.

When a minute passes with no response, Aaron smirks and steps back himself.

“That’s fine. I understand. Alexander…it was nice what we had. I sincerely pray that we can continue working amicably despite our differences. I only hope that one day you can trust me as _I_ still trust _you_ ,” he says.

Aaron turns around and walks away from his best friend for the first time.

* * *

Alexander publishes the Reynolds Pamphlet.

Aaron does his best to provide public support for Alexander’s family, but otherwise stays out of it. As far as Aaron is aware, Alexander never outs him as somebody who knows.

However, when he is visited by Angelica Schuyler one day, he finds himself wishing that he believed in God once more, if only to hope to escape what he had found himself against.

“Did you know?” she asks him honestly.

“Angelica, what are you—?”

“Did you _know_ , Burr?” she asks again, this time much more firmly.

He doesn’t respond. He _does_ exhale his breath and looks to the ground by Angelica’s feet.

When he looks back up, he is slapped once by Angelica. Before he can respond, the door is slammed in his face.

* * *

Aaron Burr loses the 1797 Senate Election to Philip Schuyler due mostly to the latter’s support by Alexander.

Aaron pretends it doesn’t bother him, but he’d be lying if it didn’t sting to know he lost fair and square in an election, and in such a landslide too.

During these few moments of an unknown future, he finds out that George Washington is named as Commander once again by John Adams, though this time against the French for the impending war on the horizon. Aaron takes some to pen a letter, requesting a regiment and a position in his army.

Whilst waiting for a response, he finds himself drinking at the tavern he first met Alexander with when he stumbles upon a revelation.

“The water in this city…I swear to…” the bartend grumbles.

He turns the tap and muddy, thick, brown water escapes from the faucet. When it collides against the glass he’s holding…it’s when Aaron finds his next course of action.

* * *

“I agree with the motive, but I have to ask, why so sudden?” Alexander asks.

“Because it’s what the city needs, Alexander. Please…I’m not asking for anything but your support on this. We both love this city. It’s where we both found who what we wanted to be in our lives. Isn’t it time we gave back to them?” Aaron asks.

It takes a bit more convincing, but by the start of 1798—and with a loan from the Holland Land Company who graciously supported the need for it—Aaron Burr had received the permission to write documents on a plan to start the Manhattan Water Company.

Unfortunately, some people don’t see this as good natured.

John Barker Church publicly challenges why he obtained the loans. Despite working on the plan for a few months already, the idea itself won’t be enacted until at least the following year due to needed approval of the plan itself.

Because to this delay, Church accuses him of gaining the loans from the Holland Land Company as a bribe to support his political pursuits.

As ridiculous as this notion is, Church won’t let it go. It reaches a point where Burr has to respond or put the plan through immediately. Given the plan is nowhere near complete, he chooses the former.

He publishes a public letter in the New York Post. Alexander allows this only on the basis of him defending himself.

* * *

_In regards to public accusations by one John Barker Church, I, Aaron Burr, hereby decline any wrongful involvement in regards with myself and the Holland Land Company. The money I obtained from them was legally gained with the sole intention of aiding this city in the long run. I have no ill intentions of using this money to my own benefit despite what Mr. Church might claim. His accusations are founded in falsehoods and I take no pleasure in denouncing him and his position on the matter._

* * *

Church does not take too kindly to his words and responds by challenging him to a duel.

The two meet up outside New York on what is technically Pennsylvania ground. They use Church’s Wogdon pistols and are ready and willing to follow standard duel protocol.

Church refuses to deny his claims despite a lack of proof. Aaron refuses to apologize for supposed slights against Church, to which he maintains there was none.

They take ten paces.

They fire.

They both miss.

Aaron sighs and examines the Wogdon in his hand. He grips it tight and remembers how much of a terrible shot he truly is.

He looks towards his second—somebody from the local Tammany Hall by the name of George Eacker—and nods his head to indicate another round of meeting with the seconds.

Both Aaron and Church apologize for their actions and shake hands, parting amicably.

This is not the last time the two would cross paths.

* * *

“Uncle Aaron!” Philip Hamilton bursts into his office one day.

“Pip! How might I be of service on this fine day?” Aaron asks.

He stands up out of the seat at his desk. He offers the boy his full attention. An empty glass of whiskey sits near the proposal for the Manhattan Water Company, unnoticed by Aaron.

It is then that he notices the small wooden case in Philip’s hands.

“I need your help! I got myself into a situation that I can’t back out of,” Philip says.

“Slow down Pip. Tell me, what happened?” Aaron asks.

Philip explains that situation. He heard George Eacker insult Alexander during a 4th of July Speech down at Tammany Hall. When he confronted the man, Pip was called a ‘rascal.’

“Pip, this really is something you should talk to your father about,” Aaron says.

“I did! But he already gave me the pistols! I need to find a second, but I can’t trust Price to settle things down. But _you_ can! My pops always talks about how you were a better lawyer than him and I _know_ you could—”

Philip is interrupted by Aaron slamming his left hand down onto the empty glass of whiskey. The glass shatters. Aaron stands there, fuming out of his nose, with the blood from his hand now spilling all over the initial proposal.

Aaron takes a few moments to breathe in and out.

Once he calms down enough, he looks back up at Philip.

“Pip…I want you to know that I understand your frustrations. I was just in a duel myself so I _know_ how mad you can get…but I need you to back out of this duel,” Aaron says.

“But I can’t! He insulted pops! I’m a Hamilton with pride! You talk about my father like that and I—”

“ _Fuck_ your pride! Pip this is a life or death manner we are talking about here. You could die or you could take someone’s _life_. Neither option is fitting. You and Alexander, I swear…you and your damn pride will be the death of us all. Please…back out of the duel,” Aaron says.

Philip looks at Aaron for a few moments.

When he closes his eyes and sighs, Aaron knows he’s lost him.

Like father, like son…

“I’m sorry Uncle Aaron…but I know you can convince them to apologize.”

This…is an opportunity.

He could take it and help free Philip from the burdens of choosing somebody’s life over another…

…or he could say no and he could send Philip away to fight his own battles allied with somebody who has no chance of saving him.

Alexander might not provide him with anymore opportunities, but his son seems to still have the ability.

With a sigh, Aaron makes a decision that he will hold with him up for the rest of his life.

“Okay Pip…okay…what’s the time and place?” he asks.

* * *

Aaron Burr stands face-to-face with Mr. Lawrence, a local merchant who Eacker had called in as his second.

“Well Burr…does the young Philip apologize?” Mr. Lawrence asks.

“Please…call off the damn duel,” Aaron asks.

“What?” Mr. Lawrence asks.

“Have George call off the duel. Please…just…have him apologize. _Please_ Mr. Lawrence…”

The tears don’t take long to show up.

“What the hell is this…?” Mr. Lawrence asks.

“He’s just a boy…he doesn’t know any better. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or asking himself to do. He won’t apologize and I can’t end this with him…but George…George is a smart man. Please…have him apologize to Pip,” Aaron says through the tears pouring down his cheeks.

“Do you really think George will stop this, Aaron? Let’s be honest here…” Mr. Lawrence says.

“Please!” Aaron exclaims.

“Okay, okay, I’ll ask him…”

Mr. Lawrence turns around and walks back towards Eacker. The two share a few words privately amongst themselves.

It’s when Eacker starts to walk towards Aaron that he starts to worry.

“Aaron, what the hell are you doing?” Eacker asks him.

“George, please, I am begging you, just apologize to the lad,” Aaron says.

“What? It’s true! You _know_ it to be true! Alexander’s a damn rascal and you _know_ what he’d do to get the presidency,” Eacker says.

“I don’t give a damn about Alexander! This isn’t a _game_ George!” Aaron shouts.

After taking a few more moments to try and gain some composure, he leans forward and hits his knees. He then falls face first into the dirt, offering his hands out, palms down.

“Please…I am begging you George…just apologize to him…”

“Holy shit…get up Aaron,” Eacker mutters.

“Please!” Aaron once again exclaims.

“Get the fuck up Aaron. We’re doing this…and if this is how low Alexander has to go to save his own reputation than maybe it’s what he deserves,” Eacker says.

Aaron stands up. He tries to go for Eacker’s pistol, but is stopped by Mr. Lawrence, who holds him back.

“Mr. Burr!” he shouts.

Eacker turns around and walks the other direction, returning to his position across from Philip.

Once he is shoved away by Mr. Lawrence, Aaron just hits the ground, landing on his butt.

"Confer with your man, Mr. Burr,” Mr. Lawrence says.

He turns around and walks back towards his spot away from the dueling ring.

Aaron turns around and crawls a few paces before reaching his feet. He approaches Philip, who is suddenly looking very scared.

“Pip…” Aaron says.

“Uncle Aaron…” some tears start form in the young man’s eyes.

Aaron wipes the tears from his own eyes. He places a hand on Philip’s shoulder.

“Pip, listen to me. When the duel starts, I want you to aim your pistol at the ground,” Aaron says.

“But pops said—”

“Philip, you have to promise me. Aim your pistol at the ground! Nothing higher, nothing lower. Please…just do it. Promise me.”

Philip looks down at his pistol and it’s when Aaron notices the similarities.

The strikingly same similarities as the pistol he brandished against Church a few months ago.

This _is_ the exact same pistol he wielded then.

“I promise, Uncle Aaron,” Philip says.

Aaron looks up at Philip, matching the boy’s eyes.

He sees it.

He sees that same damn spark his father has, that _he_ has, that _Washington_ has.

He pats the boy’s cheek a couple times before taking his place to the side of the ring.

Both men meet in the middle of the circle.

They turn.

Ten paces.

They fire.

* * *

Aaron can hear Angelica and Church talking to Alexander as the doctor tries to save the poor boy’s life.

He remains outside the door long enough for Alexander to question what happened.

“It was Aaron. He brought Pip here…but he wouldn’t tell us what happened. He was so wild in his grieving that he just wanted us to save him,” Church tells him.

Aaron leaves before hearing the wails of a crying mother who just lost her baby boy.

* * *

Aaron finds himself at the same damn tavern he met Alexander at all those years ago. He finishes off another glass of whiskey before knocking on the counter for another. The bartender complies, but stops halfway when the door to the establishment opens.

Aaron knocks on the bar again to get his attention. The bartender finishes the drink before handing it to Aaron.

He raises the glass to his lips when he finds the familiar commander’s cap and feather placed next to him.

Aaron finishes the drink in one go.

Washington sits down next to him as Aaron slams the drink into the counter. He knocks on it again and the bartender goes to refill the glass.

“No. Judging by the smell of him, I think he’s had enough,” Washington says.

“You don’t get to judge me,” Aaron says.

“Given why I’m here, I think that’s exactly what I get to do,” the Commander says.

The bartender walks away, leaving the two of them alone and Aaron without anymore drink.

“Why are you here George?” Aaron asks.

“Ah…I see you’re still mad,” Washington says.

“Surely you hear what happened by now…”

“With young Philip? Yes, unfortunately. Though I have to question your involvement,” Washington says.

Aaron shrugs once before placing his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands.

“I failed. Again. It was another opportunity to succeed and I failed. I tried to save the boy. I did everything in my power to do so, but it’s that damn Hamilton pride,” he says.

“Hm…well…I thought I owed it to you to tell you in person…” Washington says.

He sets a parchment down on the counter. Aaron glances over briefly, but it doesn’t last long before he once again knocks on the counter.

“This is no way to treat yourself,” Washington says.

“You just denied me a position in the army on your staff. I just watched somebody who considered me an uncle get shot because I couldn’t stop him. I’ve been ousted by Adams and my own damn party and you’re really going to tell me how to treat myself? What part of ‘you’re not my father’ do you not get?”

“The part that means I can’t still look out for you. Look, Aaron…the military life is not for you. The political life is one you can lead, but it’s like I said…you’re a great lawyer and would serve an excellent senator, but—”

“—as long as it’s under _Hamilton_ right. As long as _Hamilton_ is the one taking the lead, right? As long as _Hamilton_ is the one in control? Does that sound right George or should I go on?

It’s always fucking _Hamilton_. The man comes to New York on a boat and earns the praise of the Reprobates. He steals cannons once and pisses off a preacher just because he supported the British. He writes well and speaks eloquently enough to get your attention and you hire him right on sight. The only reason I was given a spot was _Hamilton_. The only reason I had a camp to lead was _Hamilton_. The only reason you gave me the Under Secretary position was because of _Hamilton_. The senator seat? Hamilton. _Losing_ the senator seat? Hamilton. My fucking _wife_? Hamilton.

I’m tired of Hamiltons. I’m tired of Alexander. I’m tired of you, George. So you know what? Fine. If my life is going to be forever connected with the fucking Hamiltons, than I will make sure it’s a connection nobody will ever forget.

Burr stands up and reaches into his wallet. He slaps down more than enough money to pay for the drink he’s had.

“Aaron, what are you thinking?” Washington asks.

“I’m thinking it’s about time somebody starts standing up to Alexander…and if it has to be me…than so be it.”

* * *

Aaron gets home and immediately retreats to his office. It doesn’t take him long before he starts slamming back the whiskey. He notices the plan for Manhattan Water Company, now covered in blood and in need of a reprisal.

With a sigh, Aaron looks down at the wound on his left hand. It’s bandaged up but does nothing to hide the scar that he will always see. The one that cost a young boy his life.

Aaron grabs the plan and leaves.

When he arrives in the capital, he immediately requests the opportunity to reprint the plan. He is given permission, but is told it would take a couple days.

Aaron grabs the plan back and makes the trek back home.

When he arrives, he sits down at his desk. He flattens out the blood-soaked piece of parchment. He grabs a blank one nearby as well as a quill.

Desperation sinks in and he actually starts writing out a copy of the document on another piece of paper. The legalities of this are unquestionable and Aaron knows more than most that if anybody found out it would be thrown away and he would be ruined.

When he reaches the third paragraph, he stops.

Nobody else has read over the proposal. This is the initial copy. Nobody who approved the plan and the loan has already passed when the initial proposal was accepted.

He _has_ the loan.

Aaron thinks of the Hamilton senior.

He narrows his eyes and grabs a new piece of paper to start writing the plan.

* * *

Come August, the proposal to get the newly named Manhattan Company is approved in record time. It only took Aaron four months to redesign the plan and get it approved.

When the original document is officially signed, nobody seems to notice the addendum that was added.

When the final signature—Aaron’s himself—hits the paper, he has to do a lot to hide his glee.

Nonetheless, he shakes the hands of everyone he sees until he leaves the facility with the deal in hand.

Using the funds raised by fellow politicians, as well as the initial loan by the Holland Land Company, he starts the Manhattan Bank Company.

This is the very first bank in the United States that isn’t federally mandated or, more important, founded by Hamilton.

* * *

It takes Aaron another few minutes to gather his thoughts. Despite the public outrage spewed on him by the Federalists, led mostly by Alexander himself, Aaron still manages to persuade Tammany Hall to support him in his next endeavor.

It isn’t _terribly_ difficult given he was the one who turned the place into a Democratic-Republican breeding ground after all.

With that group rallying behind him in New York, Aaron really starts taking a campaign on running for President seriously.

The only issue comes in the form of policies. Aaron knows that his decrying of slavery will earn him a North vote, but it is with a sad heart that he must put his desire for women rights on hold for the moment. Despite his disdain for the man, he must agree that George had a point regarding what topics he could sell to the public.

He believes he has the North in the bag. So how to convince the South…?

Aaron notices an article in the New York Post, published by its founder, Alexander.

To say that it’s scathing would be a dubious notion at best.

It decries Aaron’s way in which he started the Manhattan Bank, as well as his recent follies in regard to his personal life.

But maybe he can work with this…?

Alexander might have only used Aaron’s own tactics once, possibly as a form of pity, but more than likely having seen reason for only a few moments. It _did_ allow them to have all the power they needed to start the nation’s financial system, for all the good it’s done them since.

Perhaps it’s time Aaron borrowed some tactics from his old friend…?

Aaron begins working on a rebuttal as soon as he gets home.

* * *

Between sips of every kind of alcohol he could find around the house and writing down the final plans for his campaign, Aaron has a momentary thought when it comes to his daughter leaving him.

He doesn’t blame her. They both see the path her father is taking. It isn’t a road taken lightly, but they both know it is a dark one all the same.

This doesn’t make it any less of a necessary evil, nor does it give him any pleasure in knowing he will be the one to travel it.

At least he knows he has his wife there to support him, even if Laurens and George insist on looking down on him in an odd mix of worry and disgust.

They made their beds. Let them lie in it for all of their afterlife.

* * *

As soon as 1799 becomes 1800, Aaron dedicates the majority of his time to campaigning around the North. It might be a bold strategy, but if he can convince the higher population and economic capital that the North provides to vote for him, than he could easily defeat Jefferson, the only person closest to him that could be called a political rival at this point.

Alexander is out of the running. Between the death of young Philip and then the youngest Schuyler sister, Peggy, neither he nor his family have any ounce of intention of pursuing the presidency.

Madison has no intention on pursuing the Vice President position and has ceded his attempts at the actual Presidency to Jefferson in lieu of one of the two main Secretary positions, probably Secretary of State given his friendship with the Francophile.

Any Federalists who might _attempt_ to run will find themselves without a proverbial pot to piss in. John Adams stands no chance of retaining his position despite his attempts to the contrary and anybody with an ounce of political know-how knows how.

Beyond that, the only two people even putting any effort into the process is himself and Jefferson.

His gambit pays off…for the most part.

Jefferson and Aaron both tie with the Electoral College.

Only the delegates can decide the winner, and sure, the majority still opt to choose Jefferson, but given it takes them nearly a week and it _still_ remains without a vast majority, the public consensus dictates that at this point, it would take a key endorsement to turn the tides of this war.

Aaron manages to have a word with Hamilton before he makes his voice heard to the House.

“Alexander!” he says.

He approaches his former friend with an offer for a handshake, but finds himself rebuffed.

“You’ve created quite a stir, Burr,” Alexander says.

“To be sure,” Aaron responds.

“You’re openly campaigning?” Alexander asks.

“Yes!” Aaron exclaims.

It’s said with every bit of pride he has left.

“That’s new.”  
  
“Honestly…it’s kind of draining.”

The smile on his face doesn’t leave, but he does look towards the floor to show his exhaustion.

He might be proud of what he’s accomplishing—blazing trails by campaigning so publicly for the office of President—but damn if it isn’t tiring. The whiskey he drinks between endeavors does wonders for keeping him awake and active though.

“Burr,” Alexander says.

Aaron looks up and they meet eyes.

He sees that same damn spark he saw when they first met. It allows Aaron’s smile to grow back to its normal stature.

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” Alexander asks.

Aaron ponders the question for a few moments.

When he has an answer, he smirks and hands Alexander a flyer supporting his campaign.

“Fuck slavery, allow women more rights if I can, but beyond that Alexander…no,” he says.

The answer displeases Alexander, even Aaron can see that, but neither of them can deny the truth in his voice.

“And honestly…?” Aaron ponders, though he’s fairly certain it’s just the alcohol guiding him. “I learned that from you, Mr. Take Every Opportunity and Still Come Out on Top.”

“Is that right?” Alexander asks.

Aaron knows an opportunity when he sees one, but he made a vow not to allow Alexander to afford him any and this is a vow he intends to keep, in sound mind or otherwise.

“Yes, that’s right, Alexander. You’ve known what I’ve always wanted. The position of power that accompanies partaking as a President is unmatched, especially at this moment in history. It’s the kind of power I _need_ to allow my opinions and beliefs to be known…and I know, you, more than anyone, knows what my beliefs are…”

Alexander doesn’t respond.

Aaron smiles, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I trust you Alexander. I always have…I only ask that you finally trust me in return.”

* * *

“Yo."

Alexander bursts into the House with the same amount of vigor and drama that he does with anything in his life.

He has him. Aaron _knows_ he has him.

“The people are asking to hear my voice…”

They may not be friends, not anymore, but they’re still more politically aligned than Jefferson.

“The country is facing a difficult choice…”

With a smile on his face that glows the space around him, Aaron is sure of himself. He only needs _three_ more people to convince themselves to choose him, and if anybody can convince them, it’s Alexander.

“If you were to ask me who I’d promote…?”

A delegate from Maryland, the delegate from Vermont, and the delegate from Tennessee. Those are all that Alexander has to convince. If he can convince Georgia as well than Aaron can synch in his position.

He has ‘em!

“…Jefferson has my vote.”

His world crashes down around him. The smile on his face remains despite his heart breaking inside.

“I’ve never agreed with Jefferson once…”

No…

No.

No!

“We’ve fought on like seventy-five different fronts…”

Alexander! No!

What are you doing?

“But if you were to ask me what they’d accomplish…?”

The smile leaves his face as he stares up at the man he once called a friend.

“Jefferson _has_ beliefs…Burr’s _lost_ his.”

Alexander stares directly down at him before leaving.

It’s all that the dividers need to convince them of who to choose.

Delaware opts to keep their ballad blank despite supporting Aaron initially.

With Abraham Nott departing, it leaves the three remaining delegates from South Carolina, but not one of them, _not one of them_ chooses Aaron when it matters most.

The representative from Vermont who voted for him casts a blank ballot, which is enough to secure Jefferson the victory, but it is only worsened when _all four of the delegates_ from Maryland cast a blank ballot! None of them choose Aaron in the moment he needs it most!

Through the crowd of delegates making their way out of the room, Aaron spots George watching him. His face is passive, but he can see the remnants of a father teaching his son a lesson.

The ‘I told you so’ goes unsaid.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Jefferson sings from behind him.

Aaron turns around and offers his hand to Jefferson.

“Congrats on a race well run. I sure gave you a fight,” Aaron says.

Jefferson smirks and chuckles, but nonetheless shakes his hand.

“Yeah?” Jefferson asks.

“I look forward to our partnership.”

“Say what?” Jefferson asks, pausing the handshake in favor of open confusion.

“As your vice president?”

It is then that Jefferson lets his hand be freed to start openly guffawing in front of him.

“You hear this guy?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at Madison. “Man openly campaigns against me, talkin ‘bout ‘I look forward to our partnership’.”

Aaron’s smile leaves his face. Perhaps it’s the whiskey getting the better of him again, but he can’t do anything to stop the anger that openly shows in his scowl.

“It _is_ crazy how the guy who comes in second gets to be the vice president,” Madison says.

“Ooh, we can change that, ya’ know why?” Jefferson asks.

“Why?” Madison, ever the wingman.

“Because _I’m_ the president. And if you can get yourself out of the bottle enough, Burr, to do your job, I _might_ allow you in and…maybe let your opinion on a few things be heard.”

Jefferson then places his hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Oh, and Burr? The next time you see Hamilton…thank him for the endorsement.”

Aaron barely notices the two of them walking away. He only focuses on glaring openly and angrily at the visage of George and Laurens looking at him. Behind him, he can feel his wife wrapping her arms around him in support.

“Hey Thomas,” Aaron says.

Jefferson stops and looks over his shoulder. It doesn’t last long before the punch Aaron unleashes smashes directly into his nose.

The man collapses onto the ground, holding his no-doubt broken appendage and trying to keep the blood from escaping too far from it.

“Aaron!” Madison shouts in uproar.

Aaron looks down at his left hand, making sure to focus on the unseen scar. He looks back up and notices young Philip standing at Washington’s side, a smirk evident on his face despite his new arrival.

Aaron matches the young lad with a nod and a smirk of his own before returning to the enemy at his feet.

“I absolve myself of the vice-presidency,” he says.

* * *

It’s hard to tell the country is an uproar when you’re busy drowning yourself in whatever bottles you happen to find around the house.

Were he to hire a maid or housekeeper, he has no doubt she would be aghast at the mess he has made.

Alas, these are problems for conscious Aaron Burr to deal with. At least in his dreams, he knows all the faces he sees are dead. That doesn’t make them any less easy to fear.

A glass bottle slamming into a receptacle is enough to open his eyes though.

Finding the eldest Schuyler sister in front of him is far from a sight for sore eyes, but for Aaron, it’s just another example of a lost opportunity.

He tries to ignore the visage of her youngest sister posted behind her. They were never close, and it’s not like she lived long enough to have an effect on his life, unlike her elder siblings.

When Philip Hamilton places a hand on her shoulder, it’s enough for them to leave the room. If Aaron believed in God, he’d be thanking him for that mercy.

“Holy shit, Aaron. I knew things were bad, but why didn’t you come see John?” Angelica asks.

Oh, right. He still has a well-and-truly-alive Schuyler sister in his house.

He can’t be bothered to remove his head from his desk.

“How did you get in here Angelica?” he asks.

“The door was unlocked. John’s in the other room, but thinks this needs a ‘delicate’ hand,” Angelica says.

“And he sent _you_?”

Credit where it’s due, the woman only shrugs in response.

Fair play.

“Where’s Theodosia…?” Angelica asks.

“Left a year or so ago when I started my recent conquest. We both saw the writing on the wall, but she was always smarter than I when it came to foresight. Fairly certain her and her family are doing well down South,” Aaron says.

Angelica sighs.

Oh good, more pity.

“Aaron…I know what you did for Philip,” she says.

“Are you referring to my untouched killing of him or the failure which resulted in his murder?” Aaron asks.

Another sigh because that’s apparently all Aaron can hear now-a-days.

“Philip told us all about how ‘Uncle Aaron’ tried his best to convince Eacker to apologize. He even told me you begged him, on your knees and face in the ground,” Angelica says.

“I did…and Eacker paid the price for his mistakes, same as I still pay for mine. He must live with robbing the world of its greatest prodigy while _I_ must live with knowing I failed to put a stop to it.”

The right hand which finds itself slapping down on his exposed right cheek does little to deter him. The disappointed looks of George and Laurens do a good job of trying though.

“Pull yourself together. You did all you could for the boy. Nobody holds it against you for trying to put a stop to it.”

“Fairly certain Hamilton does.”

“Alexander is an idiot,” Angelica states as if it’s an assured fact.

He looks up at Angelica, raising an eyebrow. The benefit of close friendship with Alexander, as well as his family, allowed Aaron the knowledge that few in this world were keen to know.

The two’s torrid affections for each other were one of the first things he learned of even if he himself never touched too deeply upon it.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Angelica says. “We both know it. He puts his legacy and pride above everything else, including his family. _You_ had enough sense to let your daughter leave you by her own volition before you took your downfall. Eliza and I had to watch Alexander do it to himself.”

“Fairly certain he had help in regards to _that_ particular endeavor,” Aaron says.

Angelica huffs and gives Aaron another unfelt slap on the exposed cheek. The head remains resting on the papers of his desk.

“Yes, your involvement in the affair is not forgotten, but you’d be hard-pressed to find any of us who believe it wasn’t almost entirely Alexander’s doing.”

With a sigh, Aaron lifts his head from the desk. The paper on his face falls flat onto the wood, allowing Angelica time to spot the letter he had been reading when he fell into another stupor.

Whilst Aaron looks for another bottle of whiskey, Angelica reads it over.

“Sweet Jesus…” Angelica mutters as she reads through his latest letter.

“Yes, that was about my reaction as well,” Aaron says.

He stumbles towards a nearly empty bottle of his favorite alcohol. Forgoing all pretense of manners, he uncorks the bottle and empties it down his gullet.

“Aaron…what _is_ all this?” it’s John’s voice.

Oh it appears his frame of time seems to have been deformed. Angelica must have left the room to gather Church for a little office get-together. Aaron is in no mood for this type of threesome affair.

Don’t laugh George, this is serious.

Laurens don’t explain to Pip what that means.

“Alexander and I have been having something of a correspondence as of late. I requested of him to apologize for his actions over the past fifteen or so years. He believes he has done nothing wrong. There’s something in there about Cooper’s letter with General Schuyler. I don’t know, it all just kind of blurs together,” Aaron says.

“Aaron…?” Angelica asks.

Oh.

Theodosia is glaring at him now…which is enough for him to recognize the tone that Angelica requested of him. For as good of a husband he’d like to believe he was, he’d be remiss to think he wouldn’t have heard that voice at some point.

“If you’re going to slap me, just do it,” Aaron says.

He turns around and—yep, there it is, yet another slap. This one at least stings a bit more. Pain is nothing if not a feeling.

“Aaron Burr Jr.! Did you _really_ challenge Alexander to a duel?” Angelica demands an answer.

The shrug that Aaron responds with is not an apt reaction if the follow-up slap is any indication.

“Have you learned _nothing_?” Angelica cries.

“Aaron…” John starts to say. “…we can’t condone this. You _have_ to call it off.”

Aaron responds by throwing the empty bottle of whiskey against the wall. The glass that shatters is enough to silence them.

“Hamilton is allowed to go on a tear and convince _George_ that he needs command. Hamilton is allowed to maintain followers despite openly cheating on his wife. Hamilton is allowed to hold office despite being scorned on by the likes of Jefferson or Madison. Hamilton is respected because people believe his beliefs are bereft of any negatives. Hamilton saved the country, so he’s allowed to say whatever he wants…”

John steps in front of Angelica when Aaron turns towards them.

“I’ve made a lot of promises over the course of my life, but the one I’m sticking to is not allowing him any more power over me or anybody else,” Aaron says.

“Aaron…” John starts to say.

“The man _broke_ me and you don’t think I deserve my retribution? Hamilton is allowed revenge all he wants, but if _I_ want a modicum of vengeance I’m ridiculed? I drink to numb the pain. I drink to hide the corpses but I can still see them. Charles Lee mocks me for my failure. John Laurens laughs at my naivety. Peggy Schuyler tries to act supportive, but we were nowhere close enough to make it _mean_ anything.

“Pip…little Pip…he tries to apologize but we both know it’s my fault. George? Fuck George. He tries to keep an eye on me the most, but he is the _last_ man I ever want to see again. Then there’s Theodosia…my lovely Theodosia…she’s still there…she still supports me, but I’ll be dammed if her pity doesn’t sting the most.

“So criticize me. Choose to disregard me. Ridicule me. Villainize me for all I care! If the only form of freedom I can find from these demons is drinking that damned concoction, then fine! Maybe being drunk might help improve my aim.”

He is interrupted by another slap across his face. It doesn’t help that a punch sends him reeling to the floor.

With his back now flat and his arms spread, he opens his eyes to see everybody standing around him. The only people who can’t see everyone approach him once again.

“We’re coming with you,” John says.

“No,” Aaron says.

“Yes,” Angelica says, assured.

“No…” he pleads.

The tears do nothing to stop their conviction in the matter.

* * *

The trip to Weehawken isn’t any better the second time, nor is there any satisfaction in doing so at dawn.

With William P. Van Ness, Angelica, and John all in the literal same boat, the four of them arrive at the dueling ground a quarter past 6 in the morning. The beginnings of the rising sun can be seen on the horizon, painting the skyline in a haunting red.

The bodies of British officers cross his mind. The wound in Charles Lee. The failing body of Philip.

He is interrupted by Hamilton’s arrival.

“Angelica?” he asks.

He spots her and John as they get out of their boat. Nathaniel Pendleton and a doctor—the same doctor who attempted to save young Philip’s life—exit the boat not long after them.

Hamilton approaches the group. Aaron spots Philip’s excitement at seeing his father again, but is held back by Laurens and George both. Poor boy just wants to hug him.

Shame Aaron is the only one who knows.

“Alexander…what are you doing?” Angelica asks.

Aaron turns around and allows the two of them their conversation. He approaches William P. Van Ness and John, both of whom stand side-by-side, away from the proverbial tearing into Hamilton is receiving.

It’s John who speaks first.

“Aaron…what happened?” he asks.

All Aaron does is look past his shoulder at his wife. Even in death her worry grips him by the throat and threatens to end him right then and there. Usually he does whatever he could to remedy it. Unfortunately, such a thing is out the question given her present state.

“Jesus John. Do you have to ask?” Van Ness asks.

“Right…dumb question,” John says. “But you used to _hate_ duels. Have things really reached this point where you’d devolve into _this_?”

“John…I respect you and your wife…but the only reason you are here is because you insisted on _not_ remaining away. I suppose that’s just another mark of failure on me,” Aaron says.

Neither Van Ness nor John respond to his query.

‘It’s okay’ Aaron wants to say.

‘I love you’ Theodosia mouths behind them.

The sound of a familiar slap resounds through the dueling ground. Aaron turns around and sees Hamilton standing firm despite the remnants of Angelica’s actions being seen through her arm. After a few sniffs of her nose, she turns around. All three men can see more than hear the tears down her cheeks.

Aaron’s attention is more focused on the Wogdon pistol in her hand.

The design.

The color

The frame.

No…

She thrusts it out towards him.

“If this is how the two of you want to define your legacy than fine…but I hope you’re _satisfied_ to know the hearts you’ll be breaking by doing so,” she whimpers.

This damn pistol…it can do nothing but haunt Aaron’s nightmares.

Facing across the field against Church. The gun firing and piercing through John’s heart. Angelica’s wailing as her husband dies in front of her.

Little Pip across from George Eacker. Both guns fire, but Pip is the only one who falls. Eliza rushes out from the shadows to hold him. She curses his name.

Across that same field from Hamilton. He fires, but instead of hitting Hamilton it hits Eliza. It hits Angelica. It hits Charles Lee. It hits Madison. It hits Jefferson. It hits both his Theodosias. It hits everybody but the one person the bullet deserves to pierce.

He grasps the familiar Wagdon in his hand. Angelica gets led away by John.

Normally, Pendleton and Van Ness would meet in the middle and attempt to negotiate one more time, but when Hamilton places his free hand onto Nathaniel’s chest, it becomes clear there truly is no apologizing for this.

Aaron turns towards Van Ness and gives him a nod. With another sigh, his second walks towards the side of the dueling ring, joining John and a still weeping Angelica.

They take ten paces.

Aaron and Hamilton lock eyes and it’s not the disgruntled war veteran who has made the former’s life hell that he is staring at.

It’s a young immigrant man who just got off a boat.

It’s a fearless and confident wordsmith who gains the attention of the Reprobates, of Washington, of the Continental Congress.

Aaron sees the smile that charmed Eliza and Angelica. The same smile that Aaron always found equal parts humorous and fearful.

Aaron sees the sparkle in Hamilton’s eyes that has long since faded from his own courtesy of countless cups of whiskey and vindictive vengeance.

It is than that Aaron has another revelation.

This gun is meant to be aimed at the person who has caused Aaron Burr the most pain and suffering in his life. It’s meant to be aimed at the person who has spoiled the pursuits of his dreams. The man who has forced him to change everything about what he believes and strives for.

Aaron knows who this gun is meant for.

He looks up and sees everybody around him.

Nathaniel Pendleton: a constant presence for the Federalists who fights for his beliefs just as fiercely as any foe Aaron’s faced.

William P. Van Ness: a friend who has stood by him at Tammany Hall since its very first meeting.

John Barker Church: an enemy turned friend who looks out for him long past Aaron even tries to do the same.

Angelica Schuyler Church: the belle of the ball, the eldest Schuyler sister, and the person whose heart Alex has stolen. She believes in every person, even somebody like Aaron.

John Laurens: a friend of his who died way too young. The two them shared many ideals even if they never got along. Every time Aaron sees Laurens, he remembers their encounter at the tavern over him ‘dropping some knowledge.’ He sees him leading a chorus with a large group of black soldiers, all drunk, all joyous after a successful fight.

Philip Hamilton: the son of his hated rival and somebody who saw him as an uncle. The boy never deserved what happened to him. He had the pride of his father and tenacity of a Schuyler but to watch him bleed out and take a bullet is far from fair for how the boy’s life ended. He sees him graduating college and become an even better lawyer and leader than anybody before him.

George—no…Washington: the person who has never seen eye-to-eye with him and it has nothing to with the man’s height. Despite their differences, they’ve found moments of peace between each other. Even now, with his hat off and in front of his heart, he knows what’s coming. He was one of the only people who could always read what was on Aaron’s mind.

Theodosia…sweet, sweet Theodosia…

She’s grasping her hands in front of her mouth. Her silent tears roll down her face as she tries to pray for Aaron’s safety. She always wanted best for him. It’s a shame that even now she has to watch him fail, watch him be second place.

Time’s up.

Rise up.

“ _Talk less…_ ” Aaron thinks.

Despite the situation, he has enough strength to match Alex’s eyes and smile.

“…smile more…” he says aloud.

Hamilton’s gun fires into the air above Aaron.

Aaron’s never strays from its aim in front of him.

Not until he moves the gun’s barrel to the side of his head.

“Wait!” Hamilton shouts.

Everybody alive and dead attempt to put an end to the act.

When the gun clicks without a shot being fired, their steps remain frozen…

…as frozen as the smile on Aaron’s face.

Nobody is sure of what to do, least of all Hamilton. He stands across from Aaron for a moment, pondering his actions.

Eventually, he tosses his gun away and starts to step towards his enemy.

Aaron starts to shake as Alexander gets closer.

No.

The pistol falls from his grasp to the dueling ground.

No!

Aaron hits his knees and looks ahead. The tears in his eyes mist his vision, not allowing him to see Alex’s approach.

_No!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if it worked out the way I wanted to. I think I did alright but I know I can be in a rush at times. I could've expanded this scene or this conversation or added in this bit of detail here.
> 
> Confession time, here's what he got: the sources for a lot of this have been the official Wikipedia articles. I only went elsewhere for information on the seconds for Burr vs. Church and Philip vs. Eacker. Also, I might be a history nerd at times (mostly just the world side of social studies that doesn't delve into culture and the "ology" part, go geography though) but I'm far from perfect so apologies if I make any mistakes in history that weren't intended to torture the poor bastard.
> 
> "What about Aaron? Dude owned slaves in real life," says nobody in the comments but I'm bringing it up anyway.
> 
> Fun Fact: I had a scene planned about that in the last Act but decided to go the "full pro-Ham" route instead. But yes, he did, and he should feel terrible about that, but the musical decided not to dabble into that so I made the executive decision (consisting of me) to also not dabble into it. Instead, he's full "Fuck slavery" in this because Aaron will always hold firm to his beliefs. He just likes to wait for the right moment to fight for it.
> 
> "Why make this at all?" asks that same nonexistent commenter.
> 
> Because I feel bad for how much a shit rep Aaron gets in the fandom. Hate the real life dude but not the character. Given the material of the musical itself, Aaron is a flawed villain but a GOOD one. He makes you feel bad about what happened to him but you know you can't support his final action.
> 
> Story telling: it gets the job done.

**Author's Note:**

> So has the history changed enough or should I get into the abyss that is going to be Act 2?
> 
> Yes?
> 
> You want more?
> 
> Awesome. Give me some more time and you’ll probably get it.


End file.
